


Through The Darkness I Heard Your Voice

by HaniTrash



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Civil War? Never heard of it, Everyone lives in the tower because we were robbed of that, Everything hurts but it gets better, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, So much angst, Top Bucky Barnes, Vampire Bites, does vampire sex count as monsterfucking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash
Summary: Before Steve Rogers becomes Captain America, and before he rescues Bucky from Zola's table, the war changes Bucky. He never tells Steve what happened the night Dugan came to him...HYDRA twists Bucky's head around, but the one thing he knows when he pulls Steve from the river is that he needs to keep Steve safe - by staying as far away as he can...But Steve and Bucky have never been very good at staying away from each other, no matter the consequences...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 299
Kudos: 307
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for "Through the Darkness I Heard Your Voice" by Hanitrash](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27565192) by [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/pseuds/Taste_is_Sweet). 



> In case you’ve never read my stories before, expect to see rimming, anal sex, frottage, fingering, and blow jobs. Now with added biting because _vampires_!!! 
> 
> I'm SO EXCITED to share this story with you!!! So much love to Taste_is_Sweet, who has been super helpful with feedback and talking through plot, as well as for making an AMAZING art piece for me to write for! Seriously, I literally gasped when I was looking through the claims and _knew_ I needed to write this story. I was so happy to get it! I hope you enjoy the story! I'll be posting a chapter a day :)
> 
> Please show TiS some love <https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/> on ao3 <https://taste-is-sweet.tumblr.com/> and tumblr!

Bucky clutches his stomach, feels the warmth of blood spreading, soaking through his undershirt and uniform. _Steve is gonna kill me for getting hurt,_ he thinks, and groans as he tries to shift to better cover. It’s not working so well, on account of how tired he is. And cold. _But at least I’ll get to rest now..._

“Barnes! Barnes! You still hiding—aw, _hell,_ Sarge.”

“Hey Dum. Just give me a min— _un_ _gh_. Fuckin’ shrapnel got me.” Bucky closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, wincing as pain shoots through his gut. “You know what, Dum? I’m just gonna stay here, I think. Can you—in my things. Back at camp. There’s a letter, f’r Steve. Couldya mail it for me? I been too chicken to send it. Figure it ain’t gonna matter now. Don’ want my Ma to haf’ta deal widdit, though.” There’s no point in pretending that he’s going to survive this. His words are slurring and keeping his eyes open takes far more effort than it seems to be worth.

“Fuck!” Dum-Dum curses, and then Bucky feels a hand on the back of his neck, holding his head steady. “God forgive me, Barnes. But you’re gonna have to send that letter yourself. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I fucking _like_ you. You’re one of the good ones. So I ain’t lettin’ you die, you hear me?” 

Bucky tries to answer him, wants to tell him that it’s sweet and all but to cut the bullshit. He doesn’t have the energy. 

“Drink, Bucky. Come on. Hang in there for me.” 

He wants to ask what it is he’s drinking, because it’s warm, and kind of metallic tasting through all the grime and smoke in the air, but that, too, would require energy. So he drinks whatever it is, to humor his friend, and lets the comforting darkness engulf him as he drifts away to thoughts of eyes the color of the sky and hair like the sun.

  
  


*****

  
  


The first thing Bucky becomes aware of is smell. It’s a fucking war, _everything_ smells bad, but this is _worse_. The earth, the smoke, the exhaust from the vehicles, are all _more_. Yet they’re _nothing_ compared to the absolute _stench_ of human bodies and filth. Makeshift latrines _reek_ where prior they’d only been unpleasant. The salty sweat of dirty clothes, dirty bedding, and general body odor clogs his nose. The pungent stink of decay from festering wounds and rotting limbs makes him retch, and he lurches to his side and heaves, puking up bile and blood from an already empty stomach.

“Shh, it’s okay, Bucky. You’re okay. Breathe through your mouth, it’ll help until you get used to it.”

Dugan is there, with a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, talking quietly, voice hushed, but it still rings loud in Bucky’s head. Bucky lifts a hand to cover his ear as he blinks, trying to clear the fog from his brain and focus. Opening his eyes is a bad idea, however, because everything is too _clear_ , too _close_. He closes them again as the world spins and he falls onto his back, willing his brain to make sense of everything.

“What the fuck happened?” he rasps out, breathing heavily. 

“What do you remember?” Dugan asks, and it’s the hesitation and the caution in his voice that jars Bucky’s brain into gear, and his hand flies to his abdomen as he sits up and looks down at himself.

“Dum... why am I not dead?” Bucky whispers, eyes wide as he looks at the smooth skin beneath the ragged, blood-soaked edges of his shirt. He very clearly remembers the flying metal slicing through his guts, knows that guys out on the front don’t survive that kind of thing. Terrified, he scans the rest of the space, and realizes that they’re not in the medical tent like he’d first thought. 

Dugan clears his throat. “I convinced the medical staff to let me bring you to a regular tent. Told them I’d bring you by to check out your noggin when you woke up. Told ‘em you just had your bell rung a bit too hard.”

“But we... we were two days from camp, Dugan. What happened?”

“You lost a lot of blood and I... gave you some.”

“But…” Bucky swallows, runs his hand over his stomach again. “What did you really give me?” He hears the slide of a knife pulling free from its sheath and turns his head to Dum-Dum in time to see the man slice open his own wrist. 

A whimper escapes Bucky and before he even is aware of it, he’s leaning forward, eyes glued to the bloom of red. Dugan holds his arm out and suddenly Bucky’s mouth is there, covering the wound, drinking the blood like it’s the best whisky he’s ever had.

“Enough,” Dum-Dum rasps and pulls his arm away. Bucky watches in a mix of fascination and horror as the wound begins to scab over before his eyes, going from open and leaking to a line of pink in the blink of an eye. He covers his mouth, some part of his brain screaming that he should be terrified, both of Dugan and of what he’d just done, but he’s rooted to the spot. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel better after having drank the blood.

“Like I said, I gave you blood.”

“Listen, I ain’t a doctor, but I know that’s not how it works, pal.”

Dugan gives him a wry smile. “What do you know about the occult and the supernatural?” he asks.  
  


*****

  
  


It gets better. He gets used to the enhanced senses, can function past them, and Dugan gives him plenty of help. The help is appreciated, but things are definitely strained between them for a while. Bucky is glad he’s not dead, but he’s still not convinced the alternative is better. He’s hesitant about drinking blood, doesn’t like the idea of hurting people just so he can survive, but the beauty of war is that there’s plenty of dying men who could use a peaceful passage. Bucky tries to ignore the fact that the blood helps him grow stronger, and that he doesn’t need as much food if he’s had a lot to drink. Rations are in short supply anyway, and he’s happy enough to pass on his extras to the other men. 

He does what he has to, to get used to it and accept it. 

Things get better.

Until they get worse.

They’re fighting at Azzano, and it’s all going to hell in a hurry. They’re retreating, trying to get back to a safer location, and they’re captured.

The weapons facility in Kreischberg is too much for him.

Lack of blood makes him weak, in conjunction with even less food. He doesn’t know how Dugan is doing it. Although the man is a few hundred years old at this point, and has amazing discipline and control of himself. But there’s only so much Bucky can do and that Dugan can offer him while they’re prisoners, and when he’s dragged off _‘to see the doctor,’_ he can only stare back at Dugan in fear. 

As straps cinch around his limbs, and needles jab into his arms, he tries, desperately, to picture Steve’s face. He can only conjure up a furrowed brow and unruly hair, can’t find the smile he so longs to see again.

*****

  
  


It’s a hell of a thing, to one day find yourself staring at your best friend’s face and realize that you are completely in love with them—and not in the platonic sense, not even by any stretch of the imagination. It’s even worse when you know it is _wrong_ to _want_ in such a way, when you’ve been taught that such a love is _unnatural_. So Bucky had locked his love away, kept it hidden and secret, told himself it was better that way.

But Bucky isn’t _natural_ anymore.

Neither is Steve, really. But that doesn’t stop the wonder, the flood of emotions, elation, joy, and fear, that set his stomach in knots when somehow he’s looking up at a face made impossibly more handsome, when he hears the voice that echoes only in his dreams at night _(‘Bucky, it’s me, it’s Steve,’)_ when he feels the large, strong hands on his body.

He’s sure this time he’s really died, and it’s a hallucination, a fever-dream, a by-product of his brain trying to comfort him as he ceases to exist. That what Dugan did to him didn’t save him this time.

He’s partially right in that; while what Dugan did to him helped him endure, this time it was _Steve_ saving _him_ , just like all those days that Bucky had pulled Steve from a fight.

He sees the relief on Dugan’s face when he sees Bucky, and then, a few days later, the understanding as he watches Bucky with Steve, sees the way he won’t leave Steve’s side.

Except Steve is _still his_ _Stevie,_ still _human_ , at least.

Bucky is _unnatural._ So he does leave Steve, at night, sneaks away while he sleeps so that he can get what he needs, and clear his head for a while.

Being around Steve is _exhausting_ in terms of self-control.There is _nothing_ in the world that smells as enticing, as delicious, or as heavenly as Steven Grant Rogers and the blood thrumming just under his skin. The first time he’d gotten hurt and Bucky had caught his scent, he’d nearly attacked the man, barely caught himself from sinking his teeth into that massive arm and licking the wound clean.

Bucky pulls Dugan aside after that event, frantic about his near-slip. “I need help. I don’t know what to do. I can barely stand it. All I can think about is biting him…” 

Dum-Dum eyed him, took a deep breath, chose his words carefully when he finally spoke. “I haven’t said anything, because you seemed like you really didn’t want to talk about what happened. And you’ve done a hell of a job keeping yourself under control. But since they took you, inside that facility, you’re different. You smell different. You carry yourself different. Hell, you look mean half the time, which just ain’t you. Whatever they did to you, it changed you somehow.”

Bucky stares at Dugan. He breathes deep, takes a moment to collect himself. He’d felt different, sure. But he’d written it off to Steve being here and dealing with that—dealing with the changes in _Steve_ , and his own reactions to that, and sure, maybe there was a bit of jealousy thrown in the mix. And, really, he was still new to being a vampire. For all he knew, the feelings and changes were normal as his body continued to adjust.

“Okay,” he says finally. “So, what do I do?”

“Well, I assume you ain’t gonna leave his side, not with the way you look at ‘im, so there’s only one thing I can think of, if you ain’t gonna tell him, either.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow at him.

“You gotta feed more.”

Things get better. It’s easier to be around Steve when he’s full, even if he’s going out nearly every night to feed.

Maybe he was meant to be this way all along. Maybe it was some sick twist of fate that made him _want_ , so that he’d know how to lock part of himself away, how to hide, how to fool the world into thinking he was okay.

Things get better. He gets used to the smell of Steve, is able to fight it easier, and on the rare occasions they’re in a village, he lets Steve think the red tinge to his lips and the flush in his cheeks is from making time with a woman, not because he’s coming back from feeding. 

Things get better, until they get worse.

As he’s falling through the frigid air, Steve’s face the last thing he sees, he’s happy he at least got the image right this time around. Third time’s the charm, after all, and he knows, as he lays in the snow, body broken, bleeding out, that there’s only so much vampirism can cure him of.

  
  


*****

Things get worse.

He stares down at the unconscious face of his best friend.

_(He’s not dead.)_

Steve is barely alive.

_(He was supposed to die when he fell from the train.)_

Something is wrong, something happened, because one arm is definitely not his, not real, though it responds when he moves.

_(“Bucky?”)_

Steve is hurt.

He knows it was his fault, because he couldn’t control himself, he _wasn’t_ himself, he hasn’t been in a long time _(“Who the hell is Bucky?”)_ he thinks, as flashes of memories skitter through his brain like a movie on high speed. _(Fuck wait that’s me, what the hell happened to me?)_

He stares down at the unconscious face of his best friend. 

He still _loves._

He still _wants_.

He’s _unnatural_.

He has to _keep Steve safe_. 

Those are the four truths of his life.

The only four truths that ever mattered.

Steve draws in a ragged breath, coughs up water. 

Even swollen and beaten ( _by his own hands, how could he have done this to Steve, he loves him_ ), Steve is beautiful to him. He allows himself a moment of weakness. Gives in to the _unnatural_ desires within him.

Bucky leans down, brushes his lips over Steve’s split ones ( _how often he had wanted to do this when they were young; every fight Bucky saved him from, every cut he bandaged, how he’d longed to press a kiss to the hurt, to promise it would be better…)_ with a soft sigh. Even now, hurt and broken, the smell of Steve calls to him. He lets the tip of his tongue flick out to taste the salty-sweet copper tang of the blood staining those full lips. He whimpers, fighting the urge before he takes more blood than Steve has to give as electricity tingles through him. He’s not sure when the last time he fed was, but he needs to do so soon, especially since he’s injured. Just that little hint of blood has set him on fire, and he moves his mouth to Steve’s forehead and presses a kiss there.

“I love you, Steve. I’m sorry,” he whispers against the damp skin, cool from the river and the blood loss and the shock of injuries, before he rises and walks away, leaving the only good thing in his life behind.

It’s the only way he knows how to make things better.


	2. Chapter 2

"Jarvis, I would like you to run a new search for me please."

"Of course, Captain. What are the parameters?"

"I want to focus on all previous cities in which the Winter Soldier has been sighted. I am looking for a sudden rise in unusual reports of violence or crimes, and a corresponding drop after we have been there looking for him."

"Very good, sir. I shall notify you when the results are in."

"Thank you. Also, I'd like to keep this between you and me, for now. At least until I have something concrete." 

Steve stares at the maps covering the walls of his living room, dotted with pins and more than a year's worth of notes. _Where are you, Bucky?_

  
  


*****

  
  


"Captain, I have completed the analysis with the parameters you requested," Jarvis announces as Steve enters his floor the next day. 

"What do you have?" He sets his take-out on the counter, dinner now the last concern on his mind, and heads for the maps. Not that he needs to look at them, thanks to the eidetic memory, but it feels better than doing nothing, besides literally talking to thin air without something to focus on.

"It was an excellent query. In almost every location where there has been a destroyed HYDRA base, there is a corresponding rise in deaths or severe injuries to known criminal offenders, that drops off abruptly once the sightings of the Winter Soldier cease.” 

“Why do you say ‘almost every’? What are the outliers?”

“In large, densely populated locations, there is an increase in reports of violence. However, the incidents remained small-scale, with increased reports of physical fights and no weaponry involved.”

“And in smaller locations?” Steve shrugs out of his jacket, tosses it carelessly into a nearby chair, and pushes up the sleeves of his shirt. 

“Very few incidences, though there are correlating reports of sudden disappearances of drug dealers and other violent offenders.”

“Huh. You know, I almost wasn’t expecting you to find anything. It seemed too far-fetched of a hunch.”

“I hope you are pleased to have been wrong?”

“Yeah, no, I definitely am. Okay. So. Can we plot this? On a map? I need a visual of this.”

Jarvis raises a holographic image of a globe, light blue and dotted with red, slowly rotating through the air in front of him. “Here are all sightings that correspond to your search request.”

“Are there any places where he’s been sighted that _don’t_ have these results?”

“No, sir.”

Steve eyes one of the maps on his wall. “Jarvis, can you overlay this with the HYDRA bases or safehouses that were destroyed in advance of our arrival?” he asks, following his instincts.

“As you wish, sir.” 

A series of yellow dots appear, the majority of them lining up with the previously noted locations of sightings. “There is a ninety-four-point-five percent match in your query overall. Ninety-nine percent match in other countries, and ninety percent in the United States,” Jarvis says.

“Do all these time frames correlate? Was the activity against HYDRA happening at the same time as the reports?”

“Yes, sir.”

Steve scrubs his hands over his face and presses the heels of his palms to his eyes before he holds his chin with one hand and puts the other on his waist. 

“Give me just North America,” he says, and makes a shoving gesture at the globe that pushes it towards the wall and the single empty section that Steve has left bare specifically for projections from Jarvis. “Show the bases first, then add the reports back in,” he requests as he begins pacing the room.

Steve notes several HYDRA locations that were destroyed which have no accompanying rise in local violence or reported sightings of Bucky.

“Highlight those lone bases, please?” he asks, pointing at one of the yellow dots.

Several dots in highly rural areas stand out from the rest. Steve eyes the images displayed next to each location. They’d all been safehouses, sleeper cells, in the middle of nowhere. “Because they’re too small to hide it,” he murmurs into his palm. Steve eyes the maps, gaze flicking back and forth between the digital one and the paper ones on his walls. “He’s in and out, clears the place without drawing attention.”

Steve takes a deep breath. So whatever is going on, Bucky is both taking out HYDRA locations _and_ apparently sating some sort of need for...what? Violence? How much of Bucky is in there, and how much is the Winter Soldier still? Steve has spent a good amount of time reading and sorting through the files that Nat had released, knows enough about what was done to Bucky to know that they “ _released a monster hidden within Sargent Barnes once his conscious will was broken_.” But the only deaths have been HYDRA soldiers and known violent offenders. It makes no sense. He can’t figure out what is happening.

“Hey Jarvis? Can you plot the sightings in order, please? Only the ones in North America.”

He watches as all the dots disappear and then come back one by one, across the United States and Canada, with an occasional blip in Mexico. 

“Hold on. There’s a pattern here.”

“Indeed, sir. The north-to-south variance appears to be random, but there is a predictable east, west, east, middle, east, west, east, middle pattern.”

Steve rubs his hand absently over his heart and the tattoo there. _That_ was something none of the official files had on record, and had caused quite a bit of confusion when they’d been thawing him out. At least, until Coulson had seen it and put two and two together, given his love/obsession with Steve and the Howlies. Steve had been half-conscious, and what he’d thought was a dream had later turned out to have been reality, hearing someone say Bucky’s name and a comment that _“Barnes was the only Howlie to die in service, and Rogers’ best friend. It makes sense that he’d have gotten a tattoo in memory, since the body was never recovered.”_ And that...that had been enough for his brain to shut back down for a while and the next thing he’d remembered was waking up in that sham of a room.

“Okay, so if he follows the same pattern, he’ll be coming back to the east coast soon. Is there a way to monitor reports in real-time? I know that’s a _lot_ of ground for you to cover all at once.”

“I shall certainly do my best, sir. Am I to notify you when there appears to be a positive trend in a location?”

“Yes, please. Primary focus should be on locations with known HYDRA activity or presence based on the data dump.”

“Very good, sir.”

The map disappears, along with Jarvis, and Steve taps a few buttons on his tablet to bring up the news station on the television as he goes to retrieve his food. Stark says it’s not a television, but some sort of highly advanced holographic image, but Steve doesn’t care to learn the real words, it’s a damned television as far as he’s concerned.

He doesn’t really feel like eating anything, not after the information he’s just received from Jarvis, but he knows that he’ll physically feel like crap if he doesn’t keep his calorie intake up. Not to mention that Sam has been even more of a mother-hen than usual lately with him, so he’s not looking for any excuse to give the man right now. He can only handle so much of Sam’s attention after a while before he breaks down. He doesn’t want Sam to think he needs to be Steve’s therapist in addition to his friend, but if he keeps literally crying on Sam's shoulder, blubbering about how he doesn't know how to keep going some days, the man will insist on getting him to therapy. 

The end of the night finds Steve mostly-drunk on some of Thor’s special liquor—he’s not really sure if it’s a blessing or a curse that Thor had taken great offense to Steve’s inability to get drunk because of the serum, but he’s always bringing Steve bottles of _something_ to drink. Thor reasons that Steve deserves to be able to celebrate—or commiserate—properly with everyone else, and keeps trying to find the _one liquor_ that will get Steve blindingly drunk. Steve doesn’t normally see the appeal in getting too drunk, hasn’t wanted to since the day Bucky had died. 

Tonight, though, he’s grateful for Thor’s efforts. He doesn’t know what planet the luminous green liquid is from, but it’s serving the intended purpose quite well as he stares at Bucky’s face, blurry as the image is through the alcohol and the tears.

“Happy birthday, Buck,” he whispers, toasting the floating image before he takes another swig directly from the intricate bottle. Those grey-blue eyes look blankly back out at him from the canvas he’s been painting. The color isn’t right, he can’t get it perfect, can’t quite remember exactly the correct shade, because he’d been mostly colorblind for so much of their life together and then Bucky had been ripped from Steve’s hands. Those eyes haunt him, and in the state he’s in, they’re _taunting_ him. _Teasing_ him. 

If Steve was _good enough_ , as _good_ as Erskine had thought, he’d be able to get it right. He’d be deserving of Bucky. He’d have _caught_ him, instead of having watched him _fall_. He’d have had enough time to learn the right shade of Bucky’s eyes. Bucky would have _stayed_ after pulling him from the river, instead of disappearing, running off, hiding from him. 

Bucky would have loved him, the way he loved Bucky.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky stares at the television on the wall in the corner of the diner, jaw and fists clenched. He’s breathing heavily through his nose, and feels the familiar tug, hears the seductive whispers at the back of his brain, the ones that tell him that he knows the best outlet for the anger, knows the elixir to calm the raging inferno within him. 

He’s been fighting it for a long time. Another night won’t matter.

He has more important concerns right now.

The sound is off, but the closed-captioning is on, and despite the words _“Avengers have now returned to New York City in the aftermath of the battle in Lagos”_ scrolling across the bottom of the screen, he’s focused on the image of Steve, limping onto the jet, arm slung around the shoulders of the Iron Man suit, and Bucky can tell, even through the grainy footage, that Stark is taking most of Steve’s weight. 

He lets out a shuddering breath and drops his head into his hands, elbows propped on the dingy table. 

“You okay there, hon? You need something else? Some coffee maybe?”

“Coffee would be good, yes, please. Thank you.” He sits back as the waitress clears away his plate and returns his attention to the television once more. They’re playing footage now of the press conference that had been held that morning, and Bucky sees Steve once more, standing and looking just fine. Bucky knows that he’s probably got everyone fooled. But he can see the tight set of Steve’s jaw, knows that face better than anyone on earth, sees the exhaustion that he’s hiding so well. 

“Thanks, doll,” he murmurs absently as the waitress, Holly, returns with the steaming mug. She blushes prettily as she turns to greet a new customer, only for her face to freeze and her body to go rigid when she sees who it is. Bucky doesn’t know the details but he knows this story all too well, can recognize an unwelcome guest when he sees one. 

Bucky has been in this little town for about a week now, taking his time heading back east because he’s running out of targets and excuses for being close to Steve. He’s eaten a few times at this place, and it certainly hasn’t escaped his attention the way the waitress looks at him. He’s got the skin covering activated on his arm because it’s the end of June and too hot for long sleeves and jackets, so he knows that’s not where her attention is going. He recently cut his hair, and he’s gotten some nice clothes, doesn’t look like the street rat that he had for the past year, looks more like he did in ‘forty-three. 

He tries not to think about why he suddenly cares as his eyes flick unintentionally back to the screen before he returns his attention to the waitress and the man who is clearly her—what? Ex-boyfriend? Ex-husband? Just someone who can’t take no? The answer doesn’t matter, because the decision was already made the moment he grabbed her arm and Bucky saw her wince and struggle to free herself of the hold.

“Hey, Holly, is there any of that rhubarb pie left?” he calls out, knowing full well there’s half a pie in the display. 

“Just go, Joey,” she hisses as she turns back to Bucky. “There sure is!” she beams, fake smile plastered on her face. “Let me get you a piece. You want a scoop of ice cream with that, too, like last time?” She’s already moving, body relaxing slightly when she’s behind the counter with a barrier between her and Joey.

“You need me to stay?” he asks quietly when she brings his unplanned dessert over, tipping his head in Joey’s direction where the man is taking a seat at the counter instead of leaving as requested. He eyes the red marks left from the man's tight grasp. The only other customers in the place are an elderly couple near the door and a group of teens in the corner booth. If he leaves, it’s just her and the cook, who isn’t exactly in fighting shape should things go wrong.

Holly exhales heavily. “He’ll leave eventually. Thanks though,” she whispers. “Enjoy!” she says, louder, and Bucky watches her take the long way back around the counter, making a show of gathering up napkin dispensers to fill. She’s pretty, soft curves and green eyes and curly brown hair, and a smile that lights up the room, and Bucky can understand why someone would be interested. Hell, in a different situation, he might even have made a pass at her. But that’s not something he has to do anymore, to pretend he’s something he’s not. 

It’s still taking some getting used to—not having to hide, and seeing that it’s mostly accepted nowadays. At the very least, he can’t be arrested for it, so that’s a start... He wonders what Steve thinks about it. Sure, Steve hadn’t ever said anything bad about guys being with guys, but he’d never said anything about his opinions on it, period. It wasn’t exactly talked about, back then. Of course, where they'd lived it had been fairly common, even if nobody ever really said anything about it.

He eats his pie slowly, watches as the elderly couple leaves, giving concerned glances between Joey's back and Holly. Bucky gets a refill on his coffee, extends his time as long as he reasonably can while he watches the guy eat and harass Holly. He’s clearly an ex, and clearly an asshole, and he’s momentarily proud of a woman he doesn’t even know, not really, for having left him. 

He’s still going to teach the man a lesson.

The guy keeps looking at Bucky, like he's trying to size him up or something, every time Holly comes by the table and lingers there.

"Why you keep paying him so much attention, huh? You think he wants some stupid waitress from the middle'a nowhere? He's not gonna whisk you away. Ain't nobody else gonna love you 'sides me. Life ain't like one of those dumb books you read."

Bucky's jaw aches as he considers his options. Does the man have anyone who would raise a fuss if he goes missing? Bucky's pretty sure that the answer to that is no, based on his stellar personality. 

"Never did anyone no harm in being _nice_ and _polite._ Not that you'd know much about any of that," she shoots back, and Bucky smirks. "You kids almost done back there? Y'all know we close up in half an hour. Come on, now. Y'all should be home doing school work anyway. I know you got classes in the morning."

Bucky smiles sadly as he thinks of Sarah Rogers, and how much Holly reminds him of her. 

He stands and brings his coffee cup over to the counter. She’s already cleared everything else off the table, it’s the least he can do to help her since they close soon and he just knows those kids are going to leave her a big mess.

“Joey, was it?” he asks, leaning into his elbow propped up on the counter as he faces the man. Holly is at the register, cashing out Bucky’s meal, and Bucky sees her watching him, fear in her eyes. “What do you say we go get a drink at the bar down the road, while you wait for Holly to finish up? I’m looking to buy some property in the area and I figure a guy like you can give me the real story on this town.”

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself? Fucking city boys and your _pretty_ clothes and your money. We don’t need your kind around here.”

“Oh, that wasn’t a request, pal.”

Bucky clamps his hand—his right one—on the back of Joey's neck and drags him from the stool, pulling the man along as he heads for the door. 

“Holly, his meal is on me. Keep the change.” He’d given her a hundred-dollar bill to slow her down at the register enough to engage Joey, and now shoves the sputtering, enraged man down the few steps into the parking lot.

Joey wheels on him in an instant the second Bucky’s hand leaves him. He was expecting it, of course, and is ready to follow up with a hand clamped over the idiot’s mouth to silence him as he drags him off towards the trees lining the parking lot. There’s a good amount of wooded land left in the area, and Bucky picks his way easily through the blackness beneath the canopy of leaves while Joey continues to struggle in his grip.

“You see, the thing is, Joey, I’ve known guys like you my whole life. I’ve killed better men than you for much less during the past seventy years. And if you think the world will miss one less drunken woman-beater, you’re seriously mistaken.”

The sour taste of whatever drugs the man takes hits Bucky’s tongue and he recoils, spits the blood from his mouth to the ground at Joey’s feet. He looks back to the man where he’s got him pinned against the tree, metal hand still clamped firmly over his mouth and jaw.

“Christ, you’re not even good enough for me to get some use out of you.”

Bucky pulls a knife from beneath his shirt and rips the man's throat open, slices several lines up his chest as well, and tosses him aside to bleed out into the underbrush. He knows there's a small population of coyotes in the area that will help take care of the remains. In the meantime, he can't fight his own needs any longer. Even if the man's blood had been disgusting, he'd still had a taste. He'd been fighting the urge for so many days now that it had been like giving a man dying of thirst a single drop of water. Holly would probably come with him willingly enough, but he didn't trust himself not to hurt her, not to take too much, and she didn't deserve that. 

He slides behind the wheel of his car and drops his head back against the seat with a heavy sigh. He's only a couple hours from Atlantic City. He'd been planning on leaving town in the morning anyway, before he'd changed plans in the diner. He can go tonight, instead, and feed there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve is getting panicky. He’s been wandering around Atlantic City for three days now, and he’s no closer to finding Bucky than he’d been the day that Bucky had left him beside the Potomac. Jarvis had notified him about an increase in reports for three night’s worth of incidents, and it was thin, but Steve had worked with shakier intel than that during the war. But Jarvis’s report had come on day four of the activity. Steve was now on night three since then. His window of opportunity was rapidly closing based on previous timelines.

He hears a scuffle, the muted thump of a fist colliding with a body and shoes scraping against pavement, and he lets his feet follow the sound, trying not to run, not to get his hopes up. The grunts and curses curl one side of his mouth into a wistful grin, reminiscent of his youth, and all the scrapes Bucky had pulled him from. 

How things have changed, while they stayed the same. 

Here he is, now, eighty years later, in a rank alley, wading into an altercation. At least this time he’s not the one getting punched. And he can see a whole lot better in the dark than he used to be able to. 

“Alright, fellas, break it up, huh?” he calls out, reaching forward to pull the men apart. The smaller one has the larger pinned up against the wall, and though the one man is tall and heavyset, the slightly shorter man is clearly well-muscled and well-trained in how to fight. “I know it’s a hot night, and that makes tempers flare, but—” 

“Fuck off, pal,” the smaller man growls, swatting aside Steve’s arm. Steve is caught off guard, but even still, in the moment, he slips his arm around the man’s and grabs onto his forearm, puts his strength into it, only to be surprised when his hand closes around something cool and unforgiving instead of warm and soft and the man just… doesn’t move. Not only does he not move, but he’s able to yank his arm free of Steve’s hold. 

“Bucky?”

The man— _Bucky, it’s Bucky, holy shit he actually found him_ —freezes for a split second before he shoves the guy he’s holding against the wall away, kicks him in the ass as he makes for the mouth of the alley.

“Hey Steve. Happy birthday.”

“Bucky, please,” Steve breathes, afraid to move, afraid to send Bucky running. He hadn’t recognized him at first, he’s cut his hair, and for a moment Steve can’t help but stare, drink in the sight of Bucky in the dim light of the alley. 

“Guess I’m not being as careful as I thought,” Bucky says, still not looking at Steve. “How’d you find me?”

“Don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said dumb luck?”

“Stark’s AI, then?”

“Bucky, please. I can help you.”

Lightning quick, Steve is slammed into a wall, with Bucky pressed up firmly against his back. Rough concrete bites into his cheek, cold and hard, and Bucky’s breath comes hot and soft in his ear.

“You can’t help me, Steve. Nobody can.”

“Bucky, I don’t know what’s going on, but please, let me try. You always took care of me, now it’s my turn to help you.”

“You want to help me, Steve? You think you can give me what I need? What I want from you?” Bucky presses harder against Steve, and Steve could swear that Bucky is _hard_ where his groin pushes against Steve’s ass.

“Yes,” Steve breathes, can’t stop himself from pushing back into the contact. “Take it. You can have it. Anything you want.”

Bucky lets out a growl and there’s a split second of pain as his mouth closes over Steve’s neck. Before he can try to process what’s happening, Steve is coming, unexpected, sudden and forceful. Bucky moans against Steve’s skin, rocks into him as though he were fucking Steve. He doesn’t know how long it lasts but feels like both forever and a single heartbeat, too long and yet not long enough.

“That’s always been your problem, Steve. Too stupid for your own good,” Bucky pants, and Steve doesn’t know when his mouth shifted from Steve’s neck to his cheek, because his head is spinning and he's lost all sense of anything that isn’t Bucky’s cock pressed up against his ass, every secret desire suddenly seemingly made possible. “Stop trying to find me. Staying away is what is keeping you safe. You don’t want what I have to offer you, Steve. I’m no better for you now than I was back then.”

“You were the only good thing I ever had,” Steve answers, but the heat and pressure of Bucky’s body vanishes, and without the borrowed strength, Steve’s knees give out.

Bucky’s answering laugh is bitter. “Then you were even more fucked than I remember, Stevie. You have friends now. Stay with them. Leave me in the past where I can’t hurt you.”

“Bucky, please…” he whispers, before pitching forward into the filth beneath him.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s probably best for all parties involved that Bucky never bit Steve during the war.

Bucky stumbles into his cheap motel room, head spinning and heart racing. If he didn’t know better, he’d say he was drunk. But that doesn’t happen anymore, hasn’t since whatever Zola did to him, and the only thing he’s had to drink tonight is Steve.

He’d fed the last several nights, never taking much, just enough to slake his thirst. But the moment Steve’s blood had hit his tongue had been like a damned religious experience. 

Maybe it was the serum, maybe it was the free offering, the way Steve had just submitted and given himself to Bucky, he doesn’t know. He’s always taken, never just been _given_ what he needs. It had been euphoric, and he’d barely been able to stop himself in time. Bucky feels… incandescent. He’s on fire, he’s electric, he feels like he could fly if he tried, if he could only get off the bed he’d fallen onto.

Steve's orgasm had been surprising and unexpected; nobody has ever done that before. Drinking blood has always been a pleasurable experience for him, but he's never gotten hard from it, never had to jerk off because of it. But Bucky had been able to _taste_ the rush of hormones and endorphins that had flooded Steve's system and had almost come himself. Just the memory of the experience is enough for him to roll to his back and send his hand to his cock. He frees himself, making quick work of the situation. 

He comes with a sigh, lets his mind float as his body rides the high that is Steve’s blood.

***

It’s when he wakes some time later that it hits him what he’s done.

He bit Steve.

_He bit Steve._

A year of close quarters in the war, all the stresses and uncertainties that went with daily life on the front, and even as a newly made vampire he’d been able to keep his goddamned teeth to himself. 

_He bit Steve_.

As if he needed more proof that HYDRA had woken something truly dark within him, more proof that he was not in control of himself, was nothing but a slave to the hunger within. During the war, he’d always managed to keep enough distance, to keep himself full enough to fight the desire. He thought that now, after a year and a half of waking, all the months of coexisting with the darkness inside him that was stronger now since the war, finding a way to get the blood he needed without reckless killing, without drawing attention, that he’d be better than that. That he’d be able to protect the one thing he _loved_.

Part of his mind tried to rationalize it, pointing out that Steve had _offered_ himself to Bucky, told him he could have anything, have it all, and he argues back that there’s no way Steve had meant _that_ , no way he could have known what he was agreeing to.

He knows that Steve still would have offered, had he known. But that doesn’t make it better.

The one thing he’d always sworn he wouldn’t do, wouldn’t taint Steve with the wickedness within him, and he’d broken down and done it, let the hunger get the better of him.

He was still no better than he’d been under HYDRA’s control.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam is understandably suspicious of Steve when he returns from Atlantic City, empty-handed yet inexplicably renewed. It’s not like he's going to tell Sam that Bucky had—what, exactly? Dry-humped him in a dark alley? That Steve had had the most intense orgasm of his life so far just from Bucky giving him a hickey? No, he couldn’t tell Sam that he had a good reason to think—to _know_ —that Bucky _did_ actually want him, and this was more of the same, more of the “gotta protect you from yourself” bullshit that Bucky had been spewing since they were kids.

No, Sam can’t know all of that.

So Steve tells him nothing, and Sam side-eyes him whenever he thinks Steve isn't looking. 

Joke’s on Sam, of course, because Steve had his meltdown in private, spent two days wallowing in his hotel room because Bucky _had_ left him, _again_. He knows that Bucky will be even harder to find now. He doesn’t understand, can’t reconcile what happened in the alley with Bucky leaving, because it sure as hell seemed like he had a reason to _stay._

He tells all of this to Natasha, though, when she ambushes him in his rooms one night.

She listens quietly, sits at Steve’s side with her arm around him, lets him cry on her shoulder as he details the events of the alley as best he can, recites Bucky’s words to her.

“Steve,” she starts softly, and he knows her well enough by now to know when she’s thinking, choosing her words carefully. “Besides you, what incentive does he have for returning to New York?”

“What do you mean? What else does he need?”

“He needs to be safe. He needs to _feel_ safe."

"He will be. He'll have me and all of us. Why wouldn't that be safe?" He pulls away from Nat and turns to face her.

"Steve, think about it. Where would he live?”

“With me, of course. Where—oh.” Steve freezes as sudden understanding hits him.

“There you go. We’ve all read the files. If he remembers everything—and you do realize that’s a big _if_ —why would he even consider living in the tower? He can’t possibly know that Tony had a bunch of therapy, has forgiven him, and understands that he wasn’t in control of himself. But beyond that, how would you feel, going from one captive situation to being stuck in a Tower, eighty floors above the city, no easy way to get out?”

“Like I was still a captive,” he whispers. “He’d be expecting Ross to show up and lock him away, would feel like we all viewed him as a threat.”

She squeezed his shoulder, an indication that he’d gotten it right on the first try. “I know a thing or two about reclaiming your identity. Being under constant scrutiny doesn’t help.”

Steve sighs heavily. He can’t believe that hadn’t occurred to him. He’d been so selfishly focused on just _finding_ Bucky that he hadn’t given any real thought to what would happen after that. He needed to be able to guarantee Bucky’s safety. Bucky’s _freedom._ Well. He could take one step towards solving that immediately. 

“Nat?”

“Steve?”

“Wanna go house hunting with me tomorrow?”

***

Steve keeps looking, but Jarvis has nothing for him. It’s been three months of zero activity indicating where Bucky might be. He’s growing increasingly frustrated, but trying to stay positive as he sits on the low wall by the docks, staring out at the Brooklyn Bridge. The sun had set long enough ago for the sky overhead to be fully darkened, and Steve finally rises and walks back to his newly acquired house. Leaves crunch beneath his feet and the air holds a fresh crispness to it, a feeling and a smell specific to October. Once upon a time, the cold air and the decaying vegetation would have triggered an asthma attack, but that’s just one of many things that are no longer a concern for him. Not that he misses it, but some nights he appreciates it more, still tries to not take his healthy body for granted despite how long it’s been. 

The hallway light flickers and then goes out when he flips the switch and he sighs as he closes the door. There’s plenty of ambient light from the street coming through the windows, and there’s not a ton of furniture to trip over anyway. He steps into the living room and before he can turn on the light in there, he’s pinned with his back to the wall.

“You need a security system,” Bucky breathes in his ear. His cheek is rough where it rubs against Steve’s. “Coulda stolen your shield, and then what?”

“There’s a tracker in it,” Steve answers stupidly, instead of acknowledging the fact that Bucky is even here, when he’d just bought the house not even a week ago.

“That offer still stand?” Bucky asks, and the offer in question is unmistakable when Bucky noses at Steve’s neck and rocks into him, pressing their groins together.

“Yes. Yes, Bucky, yes. Anything. Everything. I’m yours.”

Bucky makes a strangled noise and then once again there’s a sting of pain on his neck. Steve hisses, even as he arches into the embrace. He doesn’t come this time, but it’s damn close, and Steve is achingly hard when Bucky’s mouth leaves his skin. Bucky is breathing heavily, panting as though he’d run a marathon. Steve’s head spins, and he’s sucking air just as desperately as Bucky.

“Gonna leave the country for a while, Stevie. Wanted to let you know. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“Stay. Please,” he whispers, begs, whines. 

“Can’t, babydoll. Not yet. Be good for me, okay?” Bucky’s lips brush over his and then he’s gone as silently as he’d appeared.

It doesn’t occur to Steve until much, much later that when he’d licked his lips afterwards, he’d tasted blood. By the time he looks in the mirror at his neck, all he can see is a faint bruise.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He hadn’t planned on biting Steve again at his house. He’d had no _need_ to bite him, he’d fed well not even an hour prior. He’d had a _plan_. It should have been _fine_.

But then he’d gotten up close against Steve and his scent had filled Bucky’s senses and he’d been helpless, like an alcoholic being handed a bottle for free. He wondered if it would be the same, if Steve’s willingness would make the difference—hell, he wondered if Steve would come again, if he’d get hard himself again. The problem was that the stupid punk just _didn’t fight him,_ and he just _gave_ himself to Bucky like that when he asked. The next thing Bucky knew, his teeth were buried in Steve’s neck, with Steve’s soft sighs and sounds of pleasure filling his ear as his blood filled Bucky’s mouth.

The second time was even better than the first. Slightly more prepared for his reactions this time, Bucky is able to focus, is aware of how his body is responding to it. He feels Steve’s blood coursing through him, invigorating every cell, and he’s practically vibrating with energy. 

This is not normally how it goes. Drinking blood for him has always been like drinking water or eating a sandwich—something he needs to do, and occasionally he finds someone who tastes particularly good, or if it’s been a while he might get a bit lightheaded from the rush, but nothing ever like Steve. He has yet to decide if that’s good or bad, and pointedly doesn’t think about what he wants to do with this information. 

So instead, Bucky sits perched on a rooftop a few buildings away, waiting to see if Steve will leave the house or call someone. Steve doesn’t leave, though, and nobody arrives. Bucky sees lights on the second floor turn on, where he knows Steve’s bedroom to be. It’s easy enough to imagine him going up there to jerk off, given the state he’d left him in, and Bucky shifts uncomfortably, squeezes his legs together and grinds the heel of his hand against his dick in an attempt to force his hard-on away.

One more base to blow. One last trip to Siberia, on his own terms this time. One more. And then he can think about moving forward. Maybe try to find a way to keep himself out of jail if he turns himself over to the Avengers. Try to find a way to _live_ again. 

Try to keep his teeth away from _Steve_.

Going there in the dead of winter isn’t exactly the most appealing prospect, but that means fewer chances of running into people, so it makes the most sense. With a last longing look at Steve’s window, he climbs down the fire escape.

Bucky returns to the room he’d been renting and packs up the supplies he’d gathered. His eyes fall on the package, all wrapped and ready to be sent. He prays that the delivery service doesn’t fuck things up, that it gets to Steve when it’s supposed to. If he wasn’t worried about making it back to the States, he’d just leave it on Steve’s front porch himself when the time came. But there were no guarantees that things would go smoothly, so he’d found a service that would let him schedule a delivery months in advance, who would take the package and hold it at their office until it was time. It hadn’t been cheap, either the gift or the service, but he’d pay any price necessary for Steve. Even if that means denying himself the one thing he wants more than anything in the world. If he makes it back, they’ll talk. And then Bucky can disappear again.


	5. Chapter 5

On Christmas Eve, Steve comes home to find a package against his door. His first instinct is to call Tony to come and scan it for safety, and _fuck_ he hates that this is his life now, that he can’t trust people the way he could have before the war. But he does have nice neighbors, which is what makes him pause just long enough to read the labeling before he actually hits the button on his phone to connect the call.

The phone slips from his hand and tumbles to the hard concrete next to the package as a whimper lodges itself in his throat and Steve drops to his knees.

It’s from Bucky.

Of course, the address information doesn’t actually _say_ Bucky’s name, but it screams it all the same. The sender’s name is listed as _James Stevens_ and the return address is their old apartment in Brooklyn. The package is addressed to _Grant Buchanan_. 

Steve swallows and lifts the small, very light package, hugs it to his chest as he stuffs his phone into his pocket and unlocks the door. He takes it to the kitchen and just stares at it for the longest time, unable to bring himself to break the tape and break the spell. He’s so focused on it that he jumps when his phone chimes. If it wasn’t for the super-soldier-proof casing the phone wouldn’t even still work, but Tony had gotten tired of Steve breaking them seemingly every other week and now he manages to keep them intact with the upgrades.

It beeps again and Steve fumbles it from his pocket. He’s got a text from an unknown number.

_Merry Christmas. Still alive, don’t worry._ Attached is an image of the remains of the concrete and steel entrance of a bunker that Steve recognizes from the surveillance footage Jarvis displayed for them earlier. He'd known, in his gut, that Bucky had had something to do with it, but couldn't say anything. The air in Steve’s lungs leaves in a rush. He didn’t think Bucky could derail his world more than once in less than an hour, yet here he is. His hands shake as he prepares a response, and it takes several tries to get a picture of the package that isn’t blurry.

_Merry Christmas. Glad to hear that._

_Open it, dumbass,_ he gets in response, and his smile is fleeting as the next message appears. _Gotta go now. Time to drop off again. Love you, punk._

Steve’s _love you too, jerk_ pings back as ‘unable to send’ and a choked cry escapes Steve. It doesn’t even occur to him to wonder how Bucky had gotten his number, the same way he doesn’t wonder how Bucky found his house. 

He holds the phone in his hands, pressed against his forehead for a moment, before he takes a fortifying breath and reaches for the scissors. After carefully slicing through the tape he takes just as much caution opening the flaps of the box and lifting out the tissue paper on top. Underneath that, he finds an envelope sitting atop a slim rectangular package that is also wrapped. He opens the envelope first.

_Stevie_ —

_I hope this gets to you. If it gets delivered when it’s supposed to, and my plans worked, then by now the Avengers should know what I did in Siberia. Assuming I survive and make it through to the other side...I love you, Steve. I always have. More than I was supposed to, more than I ever told you. And after what happened in Jersey, I’m starting to think maybe you do, too. If I’m not wrong, and I’m not dead, I’m ready to talk now. If you’re interested, meet me where we always wanted to go after the war. I think it’d be a much better way to remember January from now on._

_Always yours,_

_Bucky_

Steve’s heart pounds in his ears as it races while he reads and re-reads the letter. He has to set it down, because his hands shake so much at one point, and he flattens it out, traces over the letters of Bucky’s perfect penmanship with his fingertips. Bucky wants to meet. Bucky wants to talk. _Bucky loves him._ He takes half a moment to appreciate the subtle coding in the letter, not outright saying where or when to meet, but making it plain as day to Steve. _Meet me at the Grand Canyon the day I fell from the train._ There can be no other meaning behind those words. Adrenaline courses through him, joy and elation and _hope_ for what the future now holds for himself and Bucky. He feels a tear slip down his cheek and wipes it away with a smile, knows it’s a happy tear as he reaches for the box once more. 

He pulls out the slim box. It’s not quite eight inches long, and about two inches wide. Steve gets the shiny silver paper off the package and discovers that the box inside is wrapped once more, this time in a piece of normal printer paper. He slides his finger under the single small strip of tape holding it closed and finds what appears to be an invoice. Without looking at it, he pulls it free and a box of pencils lands on the table before him. 

Steve’s happy tears turn to sobs as he looks in wonder at the box—the familiar crackled green casing of the pencils he knows he’ll find inside, the soft grays of the picture of the armless statue of Venus de Milo on one side, the pink and cream filigree of the design of the rest of the box. One hand tentatively reaches forward, lightly brushing over the navy coloring of the logo, as if he’s afraid his touch will render the box to dust. Venus brand drawing pencils. Something makes him glance back at the invoice still in his other hand, and he sees a note written on it, also in Bucky’s handwriting. Not in his best penmanship for letter-writing, but his more relaxed, everyday scrawl—

_Don’t worry, I paid for them this time._

It’s the note that makes him really lose it, and he buries his face in his hands as he sobs. It’s the note, more than anything, that tells him Bucky _remembers._ If not everything, then a whole hell of a lot, and that’s enough for Steve.

During the fall and winter of thirty-eight, Bucky had taken the ferry across the river every day to work at the American Lead Pencil Company factory over in Hoboken. It was the farthest away he’d ever worked, and the commute time had been terrible. Shortly after Christmas, Bucky had quit and found a new job closer to home, citing the travel time and terrible weather. It was months later that Steve had found out he’d been fired for stealing pencils. Not a whole dozen, like there was in this box, but several over the course of many weeks, enough to give Steve one hell of a Christmas present. The really good ones—the ones Steve got to use at work and would come home to Bucky and fawn over the smoothness of the lead and the quality of the drawing—were ten cents or more _each_. A gallon of milk was twenty-six cents. Having just one of these pencils was a luxury to them, even if they did last longer due to the quality. Bucky had stolen him _six whole pencils_ , from the basic copying ones to the higher quality drafting and drawing ones he so coveted, and Steve saved the best one for the drawings he did of Bucky. 

Steve had been pissed, of course, that Bucky had risked so much to steal him _pencils_. They'd fought about it, really fought for probably the first time ever since they'd become friends. He'd told Bucky if it had been that important for him to get Steve a present he should've just gotten money from his parents. It had been a low blow, and Bucky had looked at him, true hurt scrawled across his face, and asked Steve if the pencils would have meant the same thing if he'd bought them with free money instead of going to the risk of stealing them because he'd spent all his money on presents for his family.

Looking back on it now, head pillowed on his arms at his kitchen table while he sobs, one hand gently covering the box of pencils, he wonders how he could have missed how Bucky felt about him. 

  
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  


Two weeks later, Steve finds himself wondering where, exactly, is he supposed to fucking _be waiting_ at the Grand Canyon? He initially plans for the south entrance because it’s supposed to have such amazing views, but after pouring over maps and attractions and lodging, it hits him. 

_The fucking skywalk._

Bucky mentioned a better way to remember January. It seems the most likely choice, though it’s not actually part of the national park but part of the Hualapai Reservation.

Steve gets to Arizona two days early, but he can’t bring himself to leave the immediate vicinity of his hotel and actually _go to_ the Canyon without Bucky. The morning of, Steve is unable to eat because of nerves. He also doesn’t know what _time_ Bucky wants to meet. It seems a bit too on-the-nose, even for as much of a smartass as they both are, to be there when they’d caught that damned train, but that’s when he buys his skywalk ticket for. He’s there when they open. He wanders around Eagle Point, walks through the Native American village there, watches several performances of the Hualapai dancers. He browses the store and finally eats something at the overpriced restaurant. When the time comes, he gets into the slowly shuffling line and makes his way onto the clear glass bridge that horseshoes out over the rim of the canyon. He stays towards the inner side, moving as glacially as possible so Bucky can find him.

“Not going to look out the other side?” a warm voice asks, low and close. Steve’s heart stutters before he answers without looking at the body now leaning against the railing next to him.

“Not exactly a huge fan of heights, actually. And even though this isn’t over the canyon true, but just on a plateau seven-hundred feet below us, it doesn’t make much of a difference.” 

A hand appears in his line of sight, palm up, a clear invitation. _His right hand. The one I couldn’t grab the last time…_ Steve takes a shaky breath and lifts his hand, lets their fingers intertwine, lets the warmth and strength of that hold flood through him.

They stand silently, moving in unison, and turn to work their way to the outer railing. When they pause to look out through the glass barrier, Steve can’t help but tighten his grip on Bucky’s hand, and Bucky squeezes right back. Finally Steve works up the courage to turn his head and look at Bucky. Bucky was the one who was always afraid of heights, and Steve can see a bit of terror in his eyes. But when he shifts his gaze to Steve, his smile lights up the world, and his eyes soften as he brings Steve’s hand to his mouth, presses his lips to the back of it, and whispers a soft “Hey, punk.”

“Bucky…”

“C’mon, Stevie. We’re blocking traffic.” Bucky nods his head towards the exit and they make their way out, hands still entwined, not speaking until they’re out of the building and standing in the open air of Eagle Point again. 

“You got a car here?” Bucky asks.

“No, I… I kinda figured you’d have one. So you could, uh, come and go? Whenever you wanted.”

“Yeah. It's a hike back to the parking area, though. Shuttle bus doesn’t go straight back.” Steve is watching Bucky, who is looking out over the canyon. “Not like we haven’t trekked through worse conditions, though.”

“I can go buy us some water bottles…” he offers half-heartedly. He’s afraid to let Bucky out of his sight, but if he wants Steve to go get them he will. The weather is pleasant; even though it’s Arizona, it’s also January, so it’s only about seventy degrees, and it's even cooler at night, but they still need to be hydrated. 

“I’m good if you are.” Bucky looks off down the road and then back to Steve.

“Sure,” he agrees. Like he’d even consider saying no.

The walk to Bucky’s car is a good distance of several miles, and they pass it in silence. Steve doesn’t know where to begin, what to say, what to ask, so he just waits for Bucky. And Bucky seems content to just hold Steve’s hand and smile at him when he catches Steve looking. They do stop the car at the first gas station they come to and clean themselves up in the bathroom, and Steve does buy them a few large water bottles each, in addition to some protein bars.

“I’ve got those at the motel, you know.”

“Well, my hotel is about an hour from here, so I kinda figured yours was, too.”

Bucky just smiles at him as they climb back into the car. “And you just assumed we were going to mine?” 

“Well, I didn’t know if you’d… be comfortable with mine. Thought you’d take me to yours. Don’t really care where we go, to be honest. So long as I’m with you.”

“And you think that’s a safe plan?”

“Am I not safe with you?”

“There are some who would say you aren’t.”

“Well, they’re wrong.” Steve settles back in the seat and shoves a bar in his mouth, indicating that he’s not interested in pursuing this line of conversation further. 

“No sense of self-preservation. This is how you almost died, Steve. You’re reckless.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got you here then.”

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head. “Gimme one of those,” he says, and Steve grins as he passes a bar over.

They still don’t discuss the important things. Steve continues to let Bucky lead the conversation, which starts out slow, but grows easier as Bucky visibly becomes more comfortable and tells him about what he’s been doing since he left Steve on the riverbank. At least, until they get to the rundown motel Bucky is staying at. Once there, Bucky grows silent, remains seated in the car even after he kills the engine, hands wrapped tight around the wheel.

Steve waits. 

He’s waited what feels like an eternity for this, he can wait as long as Bucky needs, too. His eyes travel over Bucky’s tense form, noting that his left arm is flesh-colored where it peeks out between the cuff of his shirt and the glove he’s wearing.

“Steve, I… I _love_ you. It feels weird to finally say that, to get it all out in the open, when we were raised to think… But. It’s true. It’s always been true. But...there’s things you need to know, first. So when we get in there, just let me talk, okay? Let me get it all out, and then... then whatever you decide is fine. I’ll answer any question you have. If you still want to stay, or if you decide I’m not worth it after all, I’ll understand.”

His first instinct is to protest, to tell Bucky that of course he’s not leaving, but he can sense that that would be the wrong thing to say right now. 

“Okay, Buck. Whatever you need from me.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches at that, and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s part of the problem too, Stevie. C’mon. I’m not having this conversation in the car.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to give all the credit in the world to my beta Gwenpools_Aesthetic for finding the pencils for me when I said I needed a gift for Bucky to give Steve that would be a call-back to their youth and would show Steve that Bucky remembered things you couldn't read in a museum :) Show her some love for me? <https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwenpools_Aesthetic>
> 
> and here's some info about the pencil and the company if you're interested in finding out more:
> 
> <https://hoboken.pastperfectonline.com/bysearchterm?keyword=American+Lead+Pencil+Company>
> 
>   
> 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we made it! the chapter with the art that inspired the whole thing!

Bucky opens the door, waits for Steve to go in first, and locks the door behind him once they’re through. He hangs back, pressed against the door, watching Steve catalog the small space.

“You think you need to keep me here? Afraid of me running off?” Steve asks, gesturing at Bucky and pointing out that he hasn’t moved.

“No, Steve. You’re the one thing I’ve never questioned in my life.”

Steve makes a small noise at his words, and Bucky sighs as he takes a few steps in and then leans against the wall, hands tucked behind the small of his back. He tries to make himself as small and non-threatening as possible as he leans forward a bit, shrinking down. 

“The thing is,” he begins, looking down at his feet. How is it that he can ruthlessly, callously kill people, get into fights so he can get the blood he needs, yet he can’t face Steve and see his reactions? He’d been so sure of himself that morning, confident in what he needed to do. But then one look at Steve, one _good_ look, with the sun shining down on that golden head, the shimmer in those azure eyes so full of _hope_ as Bucky watched him walking around all morning, and he’d fucking caved. He didn’t want to lose Steve. Not again. Not ever. He needed to tell Steve the truth, and was terrified of the results. He wanted to find a way to stay with him, to _be_ with him, even if he had to remain in hiding. If that first bite had been an accident, then the second had been deliberate self-sabotage on the part of his brain that kept the vampire side of him in check. Every drop of blood he’s had since then has tasted _wrong_ , hasn’t satisfied him, hasn’t done anything to erase the memory of how Steve’s skin feels under his lips, or the way his blood coursed like it was the fucking elixir of life through Bucky’s veins, setting him on fire from the inside out. 

He wants more. He wants it every day, and he doesn’t see how that’s possible. He takes a deep breath and starts again.

“The thing is, Stevie, the way you remember me, and the way I remember me, they don’t match up. And I’m not talking about the shit HYDRA did to my brain. It’s more than that. It wasn’t the war—though sometimes I wish it was the war. That’d be easier. Well, it wasn’t just the war,” he amends. “The war was definitely part of it. But it wasn’t HYDRA either.” He stops, realizes that he’s stammering, stumbling over his words. 

"I mean… yeah, I've hurt people. I've killed them. I'm good at it. I was good at it before HYDRA took me and made me even better. This is different." He pauses, rubs a hand absently over his stomach and the scar that should mar his skin but never appeared. "Something happened to me, over there. I should have died, long before you ever made it to Italy. I… I _was_ dying. And then I didn't. And then, after HYDRA got me, and Zola… It changed. What I was before… I think there's something inside me now. Something dark and evil and angry. Something that was twisted by HYDRA. And he's so hungry, Stevie. He's always so hungry. And I have to fight, every day, to stay _me_ , to not let that darkness win."

“Bucky, you’re not that anymore. You’re _not_ the Soldier. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the only people you’ve killed in the past two years have been HYDRA goons.”

“You’re wrong.”

Steve blinks several times before he speaks. “Did they deserve it?”

Bucky shrugs. “Probably depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking _you_.”

“They certainly weren’t upstanding members of society. I don’t kill indiscriminately. But I _do_ kill.” He needs Steve to get it through his thick skull that Bucky is not a good guy. Not anymore. He’s a predator, a threat, a danger lurking in the dark. Steve is just so fucking stubborn that he’s not giving up.

Steve nods. “The reports that coincide with all the sightings and blown bunkers and safehouses track with that. I trust you have good reasons for what you’ve done.” Bucky scoffs as Steve continues. “What are you trying to tell me, Buck? You’re laying it on thick, like you think I’ll leave. Like you’re giving me an out. You gotta know by now that I’m with you ’til the end of the line. It’s not just a saying for me, Bucky. I love you, too. Always have. I choose you. I came here as _me_ , not as Captain America.” Steve slaps a hand on his chest at ‘ _me’_ and spits ‘ _Captain America’_ out like it’s a curse, something vile, and takes a step closer to Bucky.

“The shield is in Brooklyn, in my bedroom closet. You didn’t send those pencils—” and Steve’s voice cracks, he works his throat a few times before he can finish, voice softer this time, losing its heated tone. “ _The Winter Soldier_ didn’t send those pencils to me. The man I love—the _man who_ _loves me_ did. And I have to believe that means something. Because the Bucky I know, the Bucky who would send me something like that, always had a damn good reason for everything he did.”

By the time Steve stops talking, Bucky is breathing hard, fighting every cell of his body to keep himself from crossing the small room and shoving his tongue down Steve’s throat. How the _hell_ could he have forgotten about this man’s ability to give such moving orations? 

Bucky leans forward, curls into himself with his palms pressing against his eyes. “I couldn’t bear it if I hurt you, Steve. You’ve had enough people in your life leave you hurting and broken. I always swore that wouldn’t be me. And I don’t know if I can control this, not when what’s inside me wants you so much. I’m so scared that I’ll hurt you and you won’t be okay, won’t survive it.”

“But you _did!”_ says Steve, flinging one arm wide. _“_ You left. You pulled me from that river and then you _left_.” Bucky winces at Steve’s words and the anger dripping from them. The fact that they’re true doesn’t make them sting any less. “Do you think that didn’t hurt? Do you think that waking up in the hospital, Sam at my side, and going back to that apartment, waiting, just waiting, every night for you to show up, do you think that didn’t _hurt?_ Knowing that you somehow knew enough, felt enough to _save me_ , and then just _disappeared without a word?”_

“I was trying to protect you!” Bucky yells, uncoiling in a flash as his own anger makes him clench his hands into fists at his side. He can hear Steve’s heartbeat pounding from across the room and see the set of his jaw, knows that Steve is settled in for a fight, knows that look of determination and fire staring back at him like it has since the twenties. Bucky takes none of the anger out of his tone as he continues, determined to get Steve to understand how serious this is.

“Do you really think, if I’d stuck around, that you’d have been able to—what, see me? Talk to me? That I wouldn’t have been drugged and thrown into the strongest prison cell they could find? You think _that_ wouldn’t have hurt you _more_? I had no coherent thought process in that moment beyond _‘I need to keep him safe.’_ That was all I knew right then. And I knew that _I_ wasn’t safe. So yeah, I left. Better for you to be safe and hurt than having to stare at me through concrete walls and monitors. My head was a fucking mess, full’a more holes than one of your damned shoes in the dead of winter, and if I’d stayed I’d’ve killed you for sure, because I’d’ve taken every last drop of blood in your body to save mine.”

Steve stops mid-stride. He’d been pacing the three feet of space between the bed and the bathroom while Bucky ranted, but now he stops, turns to look at Bucky with his brows furrowed in silent question. But Bucky is on a roll now, and he’d sworn that he’d tell Steve _everything_ before he’d let himself entertain hope of anything more between them.

“You want to know what I’m talking about? I’ll tell you. Nineteen-forty three. Three months before the 107th was captured. I took a hit to the gut with some shrapnel. Two days out from base. I was dying in a hurry. And then along comes Dugan. Wanna hear something fucked up, Stevie? Vampires are real. Dugan was a vampire. Actually, he should still be alive, though I wouldn’t know where to look for him. But he saved me. Gave me his blood, made me a fucking vampire, and I survived. I healed. I woke up a few days later back in camp. I’ve been drinking blood ever since. When you pulled me from Zola’s table, whatever serum he’d injected me with made the hunger worse. Every night, I snuck out of our tent to _feed_. When I fell, and HYDRA locked my consciousness away, let that primitive instinct within me have free reign? I became a _monster_. I’d do anything they asked, because I’d get all the blood, all the violence I craved. So yeah, Steve. When I say I expect you to leave, it’s because _I’m not safe!”_ Bucky punctuates his words with strikes to his chest with his right hand, and glares at Steve threateningly.

Silence fills the room for a moment as Steve processes Bucky’s words. His hand comes up, rubs over his neck where Bucky has bitten him previously. Steve’s eyes race over Bucky’s body, as if assessing him for threat before he finally speaks again. When he does, his voice is soft.

“Bucky, I don’t care about what you’ve done. You were forced to do it, did what you had to in order to survive when you were made into a… a vampire. You had no control over yourself with HYDRA. What you did all those years, it wasn’t your fault.”

“And what makes you think I have control now?” Bucky snaps and crosses the room in a flash. With his metal hand on Steve’s chest he pins him against the wall, grabs his jaw and twists Steve’s head to the side with the other. Steve trembles as Bucky noses at his neck. “Twice now you’ve offered yourself to me, and twice I’ve tasted your blood, and I want _more_. Your blood... _god_ , Steve. You affect me like nobody else I’ve ever had.” He licks along the tendon and hears Steve’s shaky exhale.

“You shouldn’t love me, Stevie,” he whispers against the tender skin he longs to mar. “Not now. Now that I’m this monster, done so many horrific things.”

“Then make me one too!” Steve shouts, his emotions clearly getting the better of him. “If that’s what it will take for you to let me stay by your side, then make me one too. You’re not going to scare me away.”

Bucky shoves Steve away with a snarl. “Are you out of your fucking mind? After everything I’ve told you? Of all the stupid ideas you’ve had in your life, Steve, that takes the fucking cake. This isn’t a fucking walk in the park for me! It’s _nothing_ like in the movies, it sucks, every goddamned time I need to get blood I run the chance of being found out. If I get caught and thrown into jail, _I will die without blood._ You think that Ross or whoever it is in charge won’t fucking hold that over me? Use it to keep me in line? Been there, done that, pal. Not interested in the sequel.”

Steve stares up at him in disbelief from where he’s fallen to the floor. “I love you no matter what you are. And if I need to be like you for you to understand that, then so be it. I will pay any price necessary to be with you, Bucky. I’m not abandoning you. You talk about my friends but plan to deny yourself the same thing. You tell me to live my life while you’re condemning yourself to not having one worth any good goddamn. You tell me you love me and then expect me to not act on that love. So yeah, Buck. I’ll make that offer. Because I love you, and I refuse to let you do this on your own. Not when I can help you.” By the time he’s done, he’s standing again, and they’re staring each other down. The pain in Steve’s eyes and on his face is all too hauntingly familiar, akin to the way he’d looked at Bucky on the helicarrier before their fight.

“You’re taking this concerningly well.”

“I will admit, if you’d told me during the war, I probably would have freaked out a bit. Maybe even been afraid. But I mean, come on, Buck. Look at me. My body has been radically changed from who I was. Doesn’t change the person inside. So vampires exist. Okay. Since I’ve come out of the ice, I’ve fought aliens from outer space, a giant sentient robot army, and I’m friends with a literal god who was supposedly just a myth. It’s much easier to accept the idea that you need to drink blood to survive than you might think, at this point.”

Bucky lets out an incredulous laugh and scrubs a hand over his face, the tension broken. “And here we are now, then, living out the science fiction novels. Me, a vampire with a robotic arm, and you, a product of chemicals and radiation.”

“I still love you the same.”

Bucky pauses and looks at Steve carefully. “I can’t always control it.”

“But you did before, right? And you’re controlling it better the longer you’re away from HYDRA now. We’ll figure out a way. Together.”

“You should be scared of me. Just leave me.”

Steve slowly closes the distance between them. It doesn’t take long, not in the tiny motel room that Bucky is staying in. 

“Bucky, I am not afraid of you. You didn’t hurt me when we were sharing a tent during the war. You didn’t hurt me when you pulled me out of the river. You didn’t hurt me in Jersey. You didn’t hurt me _in my own home._ You’re not going to hurt me now.” As if to prove his point, he cups Bucky’s face in his hands, rubs a thumb over Bucky’s lips, and presses lightly against the bumps where Bucky’s fangs are half-descended. “I love you. I want you. I want to kiss every inch of your body, want to feel you inside me, want to give you everything.”

“Jesus, gonna cut right to the chase now, huh?” Bucky chokes out, voice thick. “Do you even know what you’re doing? What you’re asking me for? What you’re offering? What I want from you?”

“I’ve got an idea, believe me. I’ve fooled around enough to know what _I_ want. I know that I am definitely bisexual with a preference for men.”

Jealousy flashes through him and he sets his jaw, glares at Steve. “If it was anyone on the team, I’ll kill them.”

His possessiveness visibly turns Steve on more than it probably should and he watches Steve’s nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. Steve presses his body up against Bucky’s with a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Nobody that you’re ever going to meet. Internet dating apps are… interesting. And one of them looked a lot like you, actually. If you were a woman.”

“Sounds like an ugly dame. No wonder you didn’t close the deal.” Bucky smirks as his arms wrap around Steve’s back and he pulls their bodies snug. They’re both hard, neither unaffected by the situation despite the conversation. 

“Hilarious. And I did just fine, I’ll have you know. Even if we didn’t have sex. Have you ever… with a guy?” 

Bucky bites his bottom lip, reminds himself that he wants Steve to know everything, promised to answer every question. “Once. During the war. Before you got there. A few of us were holed up in an old farmhouse and found a couple bottles of this rotgut liquor… Anyway. Nothing at all, since I became this. I… I’m too strong, now. And I don’t know what will happen with… that side of me. During.”

“Still not scared. At least one of us knows what they’re doing, then. And I’m serious, Bucky. When I say ‘everything’ I mean _everything_. My body _and_ my blood. You can have that, too. I’m not worried about you biting me.”

“Always been the stupid one,” Bucky retorts, but his voice is soft, breath feathering over Steve’s lips as he fists a hand in Steve’s hair. “You promise you’ll stop me if I go too far? Get carried away?” He searches Steve’s face for any signs of hesitation, relieved when he sees none, but still concerned regardless.

“I will, Buck. Promise.”

Bucky claims Steve’s lips with a groan, holding him tighter and closer than he probably should without hurting him, but finds he can’t worry about that when he’s finally got everything he ever wanted in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is like, _so much_ sex in this chapter, lol  
> also! the super amazing awesome artwork that Taste_is_Sweet did for the tattoo!

Their lips meet, finally, and Steve’s eyes slide closed as he whimpers into the kiss, rocks his hips against Bucky’s. Being in Bucky’s arms feels _right_ , feels like _home,_ and it settles inside Steve, wrapping around his heart with a joy he’s never felt before. A low sound comes from Bucky, more a growl than a moan, and Steve finds their positions reversed, feels the wall hard against his back, and Bucky takes advantage of Steve’s surprised gasp to lick into his mouth.

“Stevie,” Bucky whispers, mouth trailing along Steve’s jaw. “Stevie, fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long. Is this real?”

“Yeah, Buck,” he answers, just as breathless. “Yeah, I’m here. Do you—,” he swallows, tips his head back with a needy whine when Bucky’s tongue traces the vein there. “Do you have anything? Slick, I mean?”

“I ain’t even got my hand on your cock yet and you’re already worried about that part?” 

“Don’t wanna have’ta stop.” Now that they’re here, finally, hands on each other, Steve is frantic. “I need you, Bucky. _Please,”_ he begs between kisses, tugging at Bucky’s shirt. He can’t get it off, not with the way their chests are pressed together, so he settles for shoving his hands underneath it, running his hands over every inch of bare flesh he can, while Bucky’s weight keeps Steve pinned in place as he fumbles with Steve’s belt. 

“Always gotta think of everything, don’t I?” Bucky finally succeeds in his mission, and one warm hand wraps around Steve’s shaft. He moves the other up to cup Steve’s face, and their mouths meet once more. Steve’s hands fly up to hold onto Bucky’s shoulders as Bucky works him, all the while rutting against Steve’s hip.

“Bucky! Fuck, I’m not—shit, Bucky, I’m not going to last.”

“Go ahead, babydoll. I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you. Always.” 

Steve whimpers as he clings to Bucky, all sensation narrowed to the feel of the hand on his cock and the mouth panting hotly against his neck.

“Do it,” he breathes. “Bite me. I want it. Want all of you, Bucky.”

“Fuck, Steve,” and that’s definitely a growl this time, and when the sharp sting of Bucky’s teeth breaking his skin hits, he knows now what it is, is expecting it even as it overwhelms him and once again he comes almost instantly, spills into Bucky’s hand and on his stomach. Bucky doesn’t drink much, but his hand doesn’t stop, continues to stroke Steve gently while he humps lazily at Steve’s hip and licks and kisses over Steve’s neck.

“Bucky,” Steve whines, trembling at the overstimulation on his sensitive cock, hands clenching and pulling at Bucky’s body.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath. “Fuck, you have no idea how you affect me,” he whispers. When he lifts his head, his eyes are blown nearly black, his lips are swollen and tinted red with Steve’s blood, and his mouth hangs open, fangs still extended. 

Steve has never seen anything more erotic in his life.

As he watches, Bucky lifts his hand from Steve’s cock and licks his release from his fingers. 

Okay, maybe he was wrong about the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Steve makes a decidedly undignified noise, but he can’t be bothered to care. “Fuck, _please_ tell me you have something. I want you. All of you. Now. I waited so long for you…” 

“God, you’re like a dream, sweetheart. Just give yourself to me so freely. You have no idea how dangerous that is, courting death like that.” Bucky’s hand is under his jaw, holding him up by his neck. They make quite a sight in the mirror behind Bucky: Steve, looking every bit as ravaged as he feels, the bite on his neck scabbed over already, cheeks flushed, shirt disheveled, cock hanging out and still hard despite the recent orgasm, while Bucky looks like a predator about to devour its prey, the shirt rucked up beneath his armpits the only thing out of place on him as he stands, coiled with measured strength that Steve can feel in the heavy weight of his assessing gaze.

He knows, somehow, that this is a test he must pass if he hopes to ever have a relationship with Bucky. 

“I love you,” Steve says, as if it’s that simple. “I love _all_ of you. I’ll tell you that a hundred more times tonight if that’s what it takes. I accept every part of you. Even the parts done to you without your consent.” He slides his hand up under Bucky’s shirt, up his left shoulder blade, and feels for the tiny button he knows is there. More than anything else, he’d studied every schematic and design they’d uncovered regarding Bucky’s arm, wanting to know it, understand it, so Bucky wouldn’t have to feel self-conscious about it, or think that he had to hide that part of himself from Steve. 

Bucky gasps when the hand on Steve’s chin turns once more to silver. Steve slides both his hands along the arm, one hand gently holding Bucky’s wrist while he cups his other hand around the back of Bucky’s hand and turns his face into the palm, pressing a kiss to it. The metal there is warm, heated by Steve’s skin, and Bucky’s fingers gently caress beneath Steve’s ear, at the hinge of his jaw.

Steve moves his hand from Bucky’s wrist and reaches for his face, cups Bucky’s jaw as well. He strokes his thumb over Bucky’s lips, still swollen from their kisses. Bucky bares his teeth, and Steve slides the pad of his thumb over one of Bucky’s fangs. His heart races as he presses against the sharp tip, punctures his skin and watches the blood well up there before he places his thumb on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky moans, eyelids fluttering, as his mouth closes around Steve’s thumb and he sucks on it.

Suddenly Bucky’s eyes fly open and his hands are on Steve’s ass, leaving Steve floundering for a grip as Bucky lifts him like he weighs nothing and carries him to the bed in a few quick strides.

“Get these fucking clothes _off,”_ he orders, pulling away after he deposits Steve at the end. Steve doesn’t need to be told twice, and he quickly pulls the t-shirt over his head before he starts on his shoes. Apparently, he’s taking too long for Bucky, though, because he shoves Steve back as soon as he’s got the second shoe off and grabs at the bottom of his jeans, yanking them off and sending Steve flying onto his back. Steve laughs as he works his way up the bed, pushing his boxer-briefs the rest of the way off his legs as he goes. 

“Now who’s being impatient?” he teases, until his eyes land on Bucky’s body and his breath catches in his throat. 

Bucky is… magnificent. He’d had a healthy build during the war, had managed to _not_ lose a lot of weight like so many other soldiers but had actually gained a small amount of muscle—Steve now knows that was due to Bucky’s supplemental diet, but still— _now?_ After everything HYDRA had put him through, after all the time on his own, Bucky had filled out and filled _in_. His chest, his abs, his waist… no longer the thin and trim man Steve had remembered but now muscled and full. And his _thighs…_ fuck, but Steve wants to know how it feels to have them squeezing around his torso as he chokes on Bucky’s cock. 

Bucky kneels on the bed between Steve’s calves with said cock jutting proudly between them, thick and full and flushed, and Steve is suddenly on his hands and knees, bowing reverently before Bucky as he swallows him down, laps at the precome seeping from the head, tongues at the glans, and buries his nose in the thick patch of hair at the base.

“Fuck, _Steve!”_ Bucky gasps. He falls back onto his heels and Steve follows him down. Bucky moans in obvious pleasure as his hand fists the hair at the back of Steve’s head, and Steve hums in delight. “Oh, fuck, baby, Steve, _jesus your mouth…”_ Bucky’s hips rock in time with Steve’s ministrations until soon Bucky is holding Steve’s head with both hands and fucking into his mouth with abandon, forcing tears from the corner of Steve’s eyes as he chases his pleasure. With a guttural cry, Bucky buries himself in Steve, cock pulsing down his throat, Steve’s nose pressed tight against the skin of Bucky’s groin. Steve swallows automatically, fights his gag reflex, reminds himself that he can go for a long time without breathing and this won’t last nearly that long.

The pressure on the back of his head disappears and Bucky’s hands trail lightly along the backs of Steve’s arms. Steve pulls back slowly, breathing deeply through his nose as he licks Bucky clean. He notes with some interest that Bucky only softens slightly, and wonders if it’s a side effect of the serum he’d gotten, much like Steve’s own short refractory time frame, or something to do with the vampirism. Regardless, Bucky’s hands curve around Steve’s jaw as he slides free, and then pulls him up for a kiss. It’s soft and tender, not what Steve had been expecting, but welcomed nonetheless.

Steve finds himself on his back once more, Bucky’s body pressing him into the mattress. The metal of his arm is cool under Steve’s hands, but his lips are fire as he kisses down Steve’s body.

“When did you get this?” Bucky asks, fingers tracing over his initials above Steve’s heart.

“After you fell. Found some place in London while I was trying and failing to get drunk. Had it fixed and added onto after I woke up.”

“Surprised it took, what with the serum.”

“Me too.”

“Gonna have to do something about the dates on here now though.”

Steve laughs softly as Bucky presses a soft kiss to the tattoo before he resumes licking along the planes of his stomach until he reaches Steve’s hips. Bucky works his way between his thighs, mouth trailing down to suck one of Steve’s balls into his mouth. Steve drops a hand to fist in the sheets, fighting to keep himself still. Bucky releases him and pushes his thighs apart, spreads him wide, bends him back as he takes a few tentative licks over his hole.

“Like that, sweetheart?” Bucky asks when a broken moan escapes Steve.

“Mmm-hmm,” he answers, incapable of producing more than a whimpering noise as he nods his head.

“Seems like it’d be about the same as doing it for a dame. Want me to keep going?”

“Fuck, yes, god, _please_ , if you want…” He’s not about to ask Bucky to do anything he doesn’t want to, but he knows from experience how good it feels to have someone’s mouth on his ass.

“Want to make you feel good, sweetheart. That’s all I’m concerned with.” Bucky dives back in, this time with intent and determination. Steve shouts when Bucky’s tongue pushes inside him, and suddenly there’s cool air on him as Bucky lifts his head. 

“Hold ‘em,” he orders, voice gruff, and shoves Steve’s legs into his chest before he disappears from the bed. He comes back a moment later with a bottle of lube in his hand and returns to his position, this time sliding a slicked-up finger in alongside his tongue. It doesn’t take long before Steve is a sweaty, shaking, panting mess and Bucky has three fingers buried in him with his mouth on Steve’s cock.

“Fuck, Bucky I’m so close, oh god, please, please…” He’s babbling, not even knowing if he wants to come or wants Bucky inside him more.

“I have a theory,” Bucky says, shifting from sucking Steve’s cock to kissing all around his groin and mouthing at his balls.

Steve can only whine in response as Bucky’s fingers slow their assault on his prostate.

“I’ve noticed that two out of the three times I’ve bitten you, you’ve come. And the other time you definitely got very hard.”

Bucky gently scrapes his teeth along the inside of Steve’s thigh, and Steve shudders as goosebumps rise across his skin.

“Your femoral artery is right here. I can smell it.” Bucky runs his nose along the top of Steve’s leg. “It branches off your common iliac artery. Up here.” He pulls his leg down and licks at the seam of Steve’s thigh, between his groin and his hip. “And I can’t help but wonder, if I bit you now, what would happen?” 

Steve writhes, letting his other leg drop as he raises his hands over his head, gripping his pillow tight and burying his face in his arms, trying to stifle some of the sounds he’s making. After all, motels are notorious for their thin walls, and it’s still daylight out. He can at least _attempt_ to be considerate. Bucky’s fingers resume working at his prostate while his other hand holds his thigh firmly, keeping his leg steady as Bucky kisses and nips and sucks over the spot he’d indicated. Steve doesn’t know if it’s anticipation of the bite—which he has already decided he really, _really_ likes—or Bucky’s fingers in his ass or his mouth or a combination of the three, but he’s ready to explode.

Bucky gives an especially hard press of his fingers against his prostate and Steve’s stomach clenches as his cock jerks. “ _Fuck, Bucky pl_ — _”_ he starts, just as Bucky’s teeth sink into his skin. Steve cuts off with a cry, screaming his release into the pillow that he pulls over his face. Bucky’s fingers don’t let up and his mouth is doing _something_ so close to his groin and Bucky has him pinned down with the metal arm and—

He’s not sure if it’s just one long continuous orgasm or if his brain plus Bucky’s actions tipped him right over into another one immediately, but he’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body. Either through his dick or into Bucky’s mouth, he’s not sure which, but he doesn’t think it really matters. Bucky groans, and Steve can feel the reverberations of it against his legs, and then Bucky stills, hips pressed against the bed, as he breathes heavily with his head resting against Steve’s thigh. When Steve finally sets the pillow aside and looks down, he sees Bucky looking up at him, a blissful expression on his face.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he says, before he can stop the words from escaping. Bucky’s eyes slide closed and he smiles softly. 

“I could get drunk off you, I swear. I’ve never had anyone’s blood affect me the way yours does.” He turns and licks up the blood running down the inside of Steve’s thigh as he carefully pulls his fingers out and prowls up his body. He sticks his tongue out and Steve sees the redness there, opens his mouth and sticks his tongue out in return. Bucky _growls_ as he kisses him, fierce and possessive, the taste of Steve’s blood between them.

Heaven knows that he’s tasted his own blood enough times over the years, between back alleys and aliens and Nazis, but licking himself off of Bucky’s tongue is something entirely different, sets him on fire. _His_ blood, now coursing through _Bucky’s_ veins, sustaining him, helping him _live_ , and finally he can care for Bucky the way he’d taken care of Steve before the war. 

Bucky grinds against Steve. They’re both hard again already—god bless that serum—and Steve fumbles for the lube, finally finds it in the folds of the blanket. He pours a good amount into his hand and reaches between them, grasping Bucky’s cock and coating him before he tips his hips up and guides Bucky back, until he feels the press of him against his hole. Bucky breaks the kiss, pulls back enough so that he can watch as he begins the slow slide into Steve’s body. Once the tip has pushed past the rim, he turns his gaze to Steve’s face. 

“I love you.” Bucky’s voice trembles with awe, emotion clear on his face, eyes glistening with unshed tears. He cups Steve’s jaw and leans down to kiss him, soft and gentle, as he pushes in until he’s fully seated, flush against Steve’s ass. It stings slightly, in the best of ways, as his body stretches, Bucky’s large cock filling him, hot and better than any dildo he owns. Steve gasps, one hand clenching on Bucky’s shoulder, the other hand threaded through the hair at the back of his head, holding him close. They stay like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, air between them thick with emotion and tension. Bucky swallows a few times before he speaks. “You ready, sweetheart?”

Steve nods his head, massages his fingers against Bucky’s scalp as he does. “Yes. Please move before I die.”

Bucky snorts, huffs out an exasperated breath. “Seriously, Steve. So dramatic.”

“I’ve been waiting for you since I was sixteen and realized I was in love with you. I don’t want to wait any more. Please move.”

“God, we were stupid,” Bucky says softly, rubbing his nose along Steve’s as he rolls his hips.

“Didn’t want to go to jail,” Steve breathes. “I got beat up enough as it was— _fuck that feels so good.”_ His grip on Bucky tightens as he shifts his legs, hooks his feet around the backs of Bucky’s thighs and rolls with Bucky’s motion as he slides back in. They groan in unison, and after a few more cautious rolls the thrusts get more forceful, deeper, faster. “God, yes, Bucky. It feels so good. Fuck, yes, harder, not gonna hurt me, baby, love it, yes, make me feel it—”

“Fuck, thought you said you never did this before,” Bucky gets out between breaths. He wraps an arm around the small of Steve’s back, holds him close as he rises up onto his knees and braces his other arm against the wall above Steve’s head.

“Got plenty of toys,” he answers, adjusting his hold to mimic Bucky’s. “I’ve known I like taking it up the ass for a long time now. Just never had another person doing the fucking for me.”

“Christ, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes close and Steve sees him clench his jaw, nostrils flaring. The hand around his waist grips tighter, and Steve hopes he has bruises, even if they’ll be gone by morning. “You feel amazing. So hot and tight. Wanna make this last, but I don’t think I can. Touch yourself, baby. Wanna feel you. Fuck, I want to bite you so bad. Tryin’ not to. Wanna… Just me.”

Bucky’s eyes open and they’re nearly solid black. He blinks a few times and they suddenly return to normal, blue darkened to stormy gray, pupils dilated. Steve understands, can see it’s important to Bucky, that their first time be just _them_ , that he wants to make Steve come _himself_ , not from biting. 

Steve lifts his hand from the wall and trails his fingers along Bucky’s jaw and down his chest, presses his palm over Bucky’s heart. He uses his other hand to stroke himself, eyes locked on Bucky’s as he quickly nears orgasm once more.

“Bucky,” he gasps, teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

“Yeah, Stevie, yeah, go ahead baby, lemme see, c’mon…”

Steve comes wordlessly, mouth open as his body clenches, legs tightening around Bucky’s and head falling back. Bucky follows him, moaning loudly as he comes, arm like a vise around Steve, holding him close as his body trembles through the orgasm, face buried against his arm. 

After a moment filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing and their racing heartbeats, Steve cautiously slides his hand up Bucky’s neck and cups his jaw, thumb brushing over where he knows his fangs to be. Bucky turns into the caress and looks down at Steve.

“Well. That was definitely worth the wait,” he says with a grin, and Steve laughs as he pulls Bucky in for a kiss. Bucky hisses when Steve clenches around him. “Babydoll. I ain’t had nothing in about eighty years. Take some pity on me, wouldya?”

“By my count, we’ve got that many years and more to make up for,” Steve retorts, flipping them effortlessly.

“God, you’re gonna be the death of me, ain’t ya?” Bucky groans as Steve starts a slow grind.

“Hell of a way to go, then, huh?”


	8. Chapter 8

By the time they wear themselves out, Bucky is blood-drunk and Steve is a sweaty, come- and blood-covered mess, body littered with fingertip-sized bruises and bite marks in varying stages of healing.

If he wasn’t so physically exhausted and sated, the sight would make Bucky ready to go again. Instead, he settles for pulling Steve tighter against his chest and burying his nose at the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve makes a pleased sound and nestles into the pillow further. “Gonna need food soon,” he mumbles. 

Bucky hums in agreement. “Sleep,” is what he says, though, and Steve’s answer is lost, even to Bucky’s heightened senses, as Steve does just that, falling asleep mid-sentence in Bucky’s arms. _Sleep_ , he says, though he himself rarely does—a combination of nightmares, the serum, and the whole ‘vampire’ thing limiting the amount he actually needs or desires, yet he finds himself drifting off easily to the rise and fall of Steve’s chest under his arm and the sound of his steady heartbeat filling his ears.

He wakes to the feeling of soft breath tickling his cheeks and fingers threading lightly through his hair.

“Hey sweetheart,” he manages, voice rough and sleepy, smiling even while keeping his eyes closed. Steve presses a kiss to his forehead and that’s when Bucky realizes there’s fabric between them, and Steve smells fresh and clean. He blinks the sleep from his eyes. “What’s up?”

Steve pulls him tight, hand running down his back. “I let you rest, but breakfast is gonna get cold pretty soon. Last I knew, you still ate regular food and nobody likes cold eggs.”

“Breakfast?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s nine in the morning, honey. I went to the diner across the street and got us breakfast. Not sure if I got you too much or not enough, but you can have some of mine if you need it.”

Bucky grunts as he sits up. “Won’t need much. And you should eat extra. I took a lot from you last night. Yesterday. Whenever. God, I don’t think I’ve slept that well or that long since before the war.” He eyes Steve, in one of Bucky’s shirts, the material stretched obscenely tight across his chest. “Lemme see you. Take that off.”

“Food first.”

“I gotta take a piss, first, if you’re putting things in order. But before that, I need to know you’re okay. Please,” he adds, softening his voice and his face. “I just need to know you’re healing, that you’re okay. I… Christ, Steve. I took a _lot_ from you.”

“I let you.” Steve’s face sets in that determined look, the one that says he’s not backing down, and Bucky sighs.

“I get that. Can you just fucking humor me, please? I let go of my control with you. And I need to know that it wasn’t a bad decision.”

That seems to get through to Steve, and Bucky sees the moment the fight leaves him. “I’m sorry, Buck. I wasn’t thinking about… that.”

“‘Course not. Because you’re a contrary shit. And you _know_ that I won’t just take you at your word, because _I know_ you’ve got a martyr complex a fucking mile wide and will just push through the side effects. So let me see.”

Steve, the fucking idiot, smiles dopily at Bucky as he leans in to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth. He pulls the shirt from his body and Bucky instantly catalogs the expanse of skin, looking to see how many bite marks and bruises linger. Besides the largest one on his neck—easily hidden beneath a scarf or jacket in the cold weather right now—there are only a few faint marks lingering on Steve’s chest and hips. He reaches forward and trails a finger down a collarbone, settling with his palm over Steve’s heart. It’s not that he needs to feel how strong and sure the beat is. Not really. After all, he can _hear_ Steve’s heartbeat just fine. He can _see_ the pulse of it in the vein on his neck. But it’s the burning warmth he needs, the tangible reassurance that Steve is okay. 

Warm hands gently wrap themselves around the sides of Bucky’s neck, thumbs stroking over his jaw. “I’m okay, Bucky,” Steve murmurs. 

Bucky exhales heavily and lets his eyes slide closed. Steve pulls him in for a hug and he doesn’t fight it, lets himself be crushed against that massive chest. They stay that way until Steve’s stomach rumbles, bringing a grin to Bucky’s face. 

“Go eat. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll join you. I don’t need much food if I’ve had a lot of blood recently, so please don’t worry about me.”

Steve releases him with a kiss to the top of his head.

“Jesus. These sheets are a biohazard,” Bucky notes as he flips them off his legs. They’re stiff with come and stained with blood. “Might just be better off taking them and having a fire out in the desert.”

“Or leaving a hefty tip for the housekeeping staff…” 

Bucky laughs and throws a pillow in Steve’s direction as he heads for the bathroom. He tries to not think about the leaving part of that sentence. He doesn’t want to leave Steve again. He showers quickly, preparing himself for the fight he knows is coming.

“So now what?” Steve asks as he sits back and wipes his mouth, watching as Bucky takes his first bite of bacon. 

Well, at least Steve isn’t going to beat around the bush. Thank God for his straight-forward bullheadedness. Bucky chews carefully, choosing his words. “Steve, you know I can’t just go with you. It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

_“Steve._ I killed Fury—”

“He’s alive—”

“I _know_ that, but it’s not the point. I _killed_ Fury. I nearly killed you. I’ve shot Natalia twice. I’ve been on the run from every major government in the world for two years now. I love you more than life itself, but even Captain America can’t fix what I’ve done.”

“I can and I will.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I killed Howard and his wife,” he says, barely a whisper, but Steve’s ears hear him all the same. 

“I know,” Steve answers quietly, and Bucky’s head jerks up in surprise. “Bucky, I knew how to deactivate your arm covering. Do you really think that what’s left of SHIELD and the Avengers haven’t combed through all the files that Nat dumped? Sure, I thought all the shit about _‘the Soldier’s taste for blood’_ was just a euphemism, but we _know_ , Bucky. Tony’s had a fuckload of therapy over what Howard was involved in and what happened to him. We’ve talked about it a lot together, actually. He knows it wasn’t your fault.”

“Doesn’t mean the government won’t want to put me in the Raft.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Ever the optimist.”

“Bucky, Nat and I have a plan.”

Bucky cocks an eyebrow.

“Well, _she_ has a plan,” Steve continues. “I’m just following along.”

Bucky’s other eyebrow joins the first and they both climb into his hairline. “Since when did you follow anyone else’s plans?”

Steve tips his head to the side and his lips twitch in a fleeting smile. “She knows what she’s doing. Plus she can kill me and make it look like an accident.” Bucky snorts, and Steve grins for real. “I mean, I’ll need to tell her about… you know. But we can do this, Bucky. Do you trust me?”

“I trust you to do stupid shit to yourself for me, like letting yourself become a science experiment or charging an entire HYDRA base on your own. I… fuck, Steve. I was all prepared for a fight. I was ready to walk away, stay underground, and we’d see each other in secret when we could arrange it. And now you’re sitting there giving me those fucking puppy dog eyes and I just…” Bucky throws his hands up in the air and lets them fall into his lap. Steve’s big, stupid, handsome face lights up at Bucky’s words. “Stop looking at me like that. This is how I get into trouble. Because I can never say no to you.”

Steve slides a hand across the small table, pushing some of the empty take-out containers out of the way as he reaches for Bucky. “Til the end of the line, right Buck? We’ll find a way. Together. Just like always.”

Bucky exhales heavily through his nose as he watches his left hand take Steve’s right. “You never did know when to walk away from a fight.”

“I’ll always fight for you, Bucky.” Steve’s voice cracks, thick with emotion, and Bucky knows without even looking up that those endlessly blue eyes will have tears in them.

“You need to understand that if I get spooked, if I think for one second that I’m in danger, I’ll disappear. We can have a prearranged meeting place or something, but if I take off, I need you to know that it’s not you and I need you to not freak out about it. I will not let anyone control my life like that again. I will not let anyone take advantage of what I am again.”

Steve squeezes his hand in response, and Bucky finally lifts his gaze. 

“Whatever you need, Bucky. I just need you. I don’t care about the rest of it. If you asked me to stay, never go back, I would. I’ll do anything for you. Give up everything for you.”

The words aren’t really a surprise, not coming from Steve, but hearing them comforts Bucky just the same. “You said it yourself that’s no life to live, on the run, constantly looking over your shoulder, no place to call home, no friends, nothing. I’d rather try your life first, before I condemn you to what mine has been the last two years. Call Natalia. Tell her…” Bucky does the quick math in his head. He’s crossed the country enough times over the last two years to know the numbers: roughly twenty-five hundred miles to the city, between thirty-five and forty hours of driving depending on the route they take. But with not knowing what’ll happen once they arrive, he’s not interested in pushing through on the drive. He’d much rather they take their time. Maybe he’s being selfish, but he’s going to hoard all the alone time he can with Steve before he puts himself at the mercy of the Avengers. “Tell her she has a week.”

Steve’s smile is worth the worry gnawing away at the back of his brain, at every single instinct of his screaming at him that he should be running as far from New York as he can.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They take their time actually getting on the road. Steve needs his stuff from his hotel, and they end up spending one more night in Arizona, defiling Steve’s sheets this time. In the morning, he checks out and after a few stops to stretch and eat, and a few touristy things that Steve begs him to do—they stop in Flagstaff and see some Route 66 stuff, and then again at the Petrified Forest National Park—they make it to Albuquerque before they stop for the night. 

“We don’t have to stop, you know. I can take a turn driving,” Steve offers as Bucky pulls into a motel parking lot. 

“No, you won’t. I’ve been the victim of your driving in Europe. We’re stopping.” 

“Okay, then can I at least pay for something? You’ve been paying for everything all day.”

“Steve, how do you think I’ve paid for stuff for the last two years?”

“I’ve been trying not to think about that,” Steve admits as he pulls a card from his wallet and holds it out to him.

Bucky laughs as he shoves Steve’s hand away. _“Steve,_ HYDRA had money in lots of secret accounts and even more stashed in the places I wasted. And now _I_ have all that money. They did this to me, to _us_ , let them fucking pay for it.” He leaves Steve to stare after him in stunned silence as he gets them a room. 

After that, Steve stops trying to pay for anything. It feels nice, being able to spoil Steve the way he’d always wanted to when they were younger. Steve had always been aggressive about his ability to pay for things himself, and Bucky had been acutely aware of his financial status in comparison to Steve’s prior to their moving in together. So if Steve was going to let him do this, then by god Bucky would run with this for as long as he could. And if they get a few weird looks, well, Bucky doesn’t give a fuck. He’s fucking _earned_ the right to have this time with Steve, and he’s going to enjoy it to the fullest.

Their second day on the road they stop for the night in Oklahoma City. Steve convinces him to go to the Cowboy Museum in the morning before they leave—not that he had to try hard, Bucky is on board for anything Steve wants to do on this trip—and they stop at the Meramec Caverns, too, so it’s late by the time they get into St. Louis. It’s the first night that they just fall into bed, exhausted, and there’s no sex or biting involved. 

Bucky is woken by Steve’s mouth on his cock, gentle and unhurried. When he threads his hands through Steve’s hair and rocks his hips up, Steve hums around him and starts moving with more intent. He uses his hand, pulls the foreskin back as he strokes downward, and trails his tongue along the glans and through the slit before taking him deep, swallowing around the head. 

“Fuck, Stevie,” he exhales, losing himself to the sensation, eyes closed as he tightens his grip on Steve’s hair. Steve takes his time, brings Bucky slowly but inexorably to the edge, and when he comes with a sigh, he sends a silent thanks to the universe for bringing them to a point in time when their love for each is something they can embrace openly.

Steve diligently licks him clean before he works his way up Bucky’s body, and they kiss lazily while Bucky returns to full hardness, Steve’s cock rubbing hot and hard alongside his. Steve lifts up and takes Bucky inside easily, his hole well-slicked and ready. 

“Someone’s been awake for a while,” Bucky teases. Steve smiles down at him as he rolls his hips.

“Normally I’d take care of it in the shower if I wake up horny. But I don’t have to do that, now. And to be honest, this is better than any toy in my drawer. Certainly better than my own hand.” A soft gasp escapes Steve and his eyes flutter closed as a shift in angle hits particularly right. 

“Jesus, how did I get so lucky? Go ahead, sweetheart. Take what you need.” Bucky trails a hand down the sculpted planes of Steve’s torso. Steve leans back and reaches behind him, braces his hands on Bucky’s shins. Bucky holds Steve’s thighs as he starts to really fuck himself on Bucky’s cock, driving himself down with force, filling the room with the sound of slapping skin and Steve’s heavy breathing.

Bucky watches, mesmerized by the sight of his own cock pressing against Steve’s abdomen from the inside, the line of it sliding up and down beneath the taut golden skin. Whimpers and moans fall from Steve’s mouth, past lips full and flushed from their earlier use, now being abused by Steve’s teeth as he bites them between gasps.

“Need… please…” Steve chokes out, and Bucky shifts his right hand from Steve’s thigh to cup his cock.

“Need some help, sweetheart?”

Steve whimpers, manages a hoarse _“yes,”_ and Bucky wraps his fingers around him, holds his arm steady and his grip firm so that Steve is fucking himself into Bucky’s fist as he fucks his ass on Bucky’s cock. It doesn’t take long before Steve keens, head thrown back as his release overtakes him, and he comes with a violent shudder, thick lines of white striping his chest and falling across his thighs. He pulls Bucky along for the ride and as Steve trembles and clenches around him, Bucky comes quietly, fills him, content to take his pleasure in watching the man he loves.

Bucky’s never seen a more beautiful sight than Steve coming undone, and it’s a memory he’ll take to his grave, an image to be cherished and remembered should they ever be parted again.

He grunts when Steve collapses onto his chest, heedless of the mess he's smearing between them. "Christ, you're a tank. Take it easy on me, wouldya?" But he wraps his arms around Steve regardless, and he can feel the smile on Steve's lips as he presses a kiss to Bucky's shoulder. 

They decide to spend the day in St. Louis. They see the arch and go to the zoo, stroll quietly through the 10th Street Gallery, and Bucky gets pictures of Steve with butterflies around his head at the Butterfly House a short drive outside the city. Steve finds some things for his house at a few of the antique shops in town, and the scant space left in the back of Bucky’s SUV gets filled by two lamps and some depression-era glassware.

A few people give Steve lingering looks, as though they’re not _quite_ sure if they’d just seen Captain America or not. He hasn’t shaved in several days, so the short beard seems to be throwing them off. Regardless, Bucky is careful about holding Steve’s hand in public and doesn’t show more affection than necessary, always the thought of _keep Steve safe_ at the forefront of his mind. 

Dinner is at a fancy steakhouse near the hotel and he’s surprised when the bloody, extra rare meat on his plate doesn’t please him the way it should. He doesn’t _need_ blood, not when he’s had Steve’s four days in a row. Yesterday was their first day together where he’d taken none. But by the end of dinner he feels himself eyeing Steve from across the table, looking at him the way a lion might stalk an unsuspecting gazelle. 

“Bucky? Did you want to share your thoughts on—you okay, Bucky? Did you hear me? Is every—oh. _Oh._ ” Steve flushes instantly, and Bucky stifles a groan at the rush of blood to Steve’s face and neck. His eyes flick down to Bucky’s plate and he clears his throat. “Right. Yeah. Okay. We, uh, we gotta get back to the hotel first, okay?” 

Bucky smirks, licks his lips and leans back in his chair as he scans the restaurant for their waitress. He catches her eye and by the time she’s at their table he’s got his card out.

“Anything I can get for you, gentlemen? Any dessert?”

“We’re all set,” he answers, handing over the card. “Thank you.”

To Bucky’s trained gaze, Steve is visibly uncomfortable by the time they finish the short walk back to the hotel. Several times he hears small, exasperated huffs from Steve as he shifts on his feet, adjusting his pants while they wait at crosswalks. When they get back to the hotel, Bucky crowds Steve in the empty elevator, shoves his thigh between Steve’s legs, and buries his face in his neck.

“Something wrong, doll?” he rumbles, voice low, and Steve moans as he rocks against Bucky’s leg. Bucky laughs darkly, leaning in further, playing up the tension and the threat by scraping his teeth along Steve’s heated skin.

“Buck!” Steve’s startled gasp is accompanied by him clutching desperately at Bucky’s arms. Bucky’s grin is downright wicked as he steps away from Steve a second before the elevator stops. Steve already looks debauched: his breathing is ragged, eyes wide with dilated pupils, cheeks stained red by his blush. Bucky doesn’t need to look down to know that Steve is rock hard. 

“Room is this way, Stevie,” he teases, arm held out in a gesture of help. Steve grabs his hand and peels himself from the wall, allows Bucky to lead him wordlessly down the hall.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Thank you so much for reading! Thank you Taste_is_Sweet for making such an amazing art piece! And a million thanks to my betas and editors and hype team (you know who you are!) for all your help with this! This was my first time doing the Marvel Reverse Big Bang and I definitely enjoyed it, thank you to the dedicated mod team for the event! Enjoy the (as promised) happy ending!!!

Sex was amazing. Steve still wasn’t sure exactly why he’d held off on full penetration with a partner, because it was so, _so_ much better with another person instead of just his toys.

Sex while Bucky bit him and drank from him? _Holy fucking shit._ Aside from the first few times Bucky had bitten him, the bites always happened during sex and Steve was _one hundred percent_ on board for that. Not that he was complaining about the times when they were together and Bucky didn’t bite. As they explored their bodies and discovered all the ways they could bring pleasure to the other, Steve definitely had plenty of mind-blowing orgasms that didn’t involve teeth. Add in the fact that they could both go multiple times in a night if they wanted, and there were absolutely zero points of contention. 

And sure, maybe he was just lost in a neurochemical haze of endorphins, consumed by lust and overwhelming love, bursting with joy at finally being with Bucky. But as the New York skyline loomed higher and the traffic moved slower, Steve felt at peace, _hopeful_ for his future in a way that he hadn’t since the day he’d tried and failed to hold Bucky’s hand when it had mattered most.

He wasn’t completely cock-stupid, though. He could see Bucky growing tense, had noticed that the easy conversation about Steve’s house ( _their house now,_ he kept reminding Bucky) had fallen off into an uneasy quiet as they crossed Staten Island and came into Brooklyn by way of the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. Steve says nothing about the choice to completely skirt Manhattan, and is, in fact, perfectly fine with not going anywhere near the tower. He knows things will be different the moment they set foot in that building. 

He’ll take one more night of quiet peace first.

They manage to find a parking spot almost in front of the house and Bucky lets out a sigh when he turns the car off. “I still can’t believe you picked Vinegar Hill of all places.”

“Hey, if you wanna move we can. I liked the cobbled streets. It’s still the city, but not as loud and busy as being in Manhattan. It kinda reminded me of home.”

“It’s ridiculously overpriced. And there’s nothing here. You have to go into DUMBO or the Heights to get anything you need.”

Steve nods. “I know. I like that part. I… I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, but I thought this was one of those out of the way areas that would offer good anonymity. It’s close enough to both the Brooklyn and Manhattan bridges to get in and out quickly. And Clint has a place over in Bed-Stuy.”

“Yeah, his place isn’t too bad. And the _Titushky_ like having a Widow around,” Bucky smirks. “Those idiots think that she was sent to keep an eye on them because they’re a big deal. But they’re barely a blip on the radar. It’s hilarious.”

“Clint calls them ‘the tracksuit mafia.’” That draws a startled laugh from Bucky, but the smile on his face falters as he finally turns to look at Steve. “Hey, we can keep going. It’s okay. We don’t have to do this,” Steve tells him softly, taking Bucky’s hand. 

“No, I agreed to this.” Bucky squeezes his hand reassuringly. “I honestly wasn’t sure I’d make it out of Siberia. I hadn’t expected to be back in New York so soon. But I’m glad to be here with you.” 

They get the car unloaded and everything mostly settled by the time their food order arrives, and it’s a bit surreal to Steve, the ease with which they’ve settled back into each other’s spaces. One fills drinks while the other sets the table; one automatically starts drying while the other washes dishes. Dinner is a quiet affair—beyond Bucky’s appreciation for the quality of the meal—but it’s relaxed, not tense. Steve says nothing while he watches Bucky check the windows and doors, and then pause next to the small square panel that is conspicuously incongruent with the rest of the decor. 

“Jarvis,” Steve calls by way of answering Bucky’s silently raised eyebrow.

“Good evening, Captain. Happy to see you have returned safely from your trip. How may I be of service to you and Mr. Barnes?”

“Engage security protocols. Only myself, Bucky, or Natasha have access until further notice. That includes Tony.” 

Bucky eyes the softly glowing screen with equal parts confusion and appreciation.

“Very good, sir.” There’s a pause, and a faint hum of current fills the still-mostly-empty space as the protective shield running through the walls is activated.

By silent agreement they head directly upstairs once cleanup is finished. Steve is surprised to notice that he’s nervous. Having Bucky _in his own bed_ is somehow profoundly different from sharing hotel rooms for the previous six nights. 

Bucky, of course, notices right away.

“Hey sweetheart. Everything okay?” He pulls Steve into his arms, brushes the hair back from his forehead before kissing him softly in the same spot. 

“Just kinda hard to believe you’re here,” he whispers, eyes closed as he leans into Bucky’s strength. 

“I drove us here, Stevie. Where else would I be?”

“You know what I mean.”

Bucky grunts in agreement, and tightens his arms around Steve as he burrows in closer. For just a moment, he allows himself to feel small again, being comforted by Bucky. “Jesus,” he gasps suddenly as something clicks in his brain. He pulls back enough to see Bucky’s face. “Those winters, when I was sick or it was so cold, and we’d huddle together…”

“Yup. Torture, babydoll. Pure and simple. Afraid you’d get worse. Afraid you’d notice my hard-ons. Afraid you’d decide we were too old for that and not let me. Soaking up every bit of contact I could get anyway.” 

Steve smiles sadly. "I was thinking something along the same lines."

"Hey, we're here now, right? That's all that matters." 

They make their way onto the bed, trading kisses between removing pieces of clothing. Bucky lays him down on his back, spreads him open, and takes him apart gently, carefully, with his lips and fingers and tongue, until Steve is shaking, a spent and sobbing mess, begging for Bucky's cock. They make love, sweet and tender, and Steve is too boneless afterwards to fuss when Bucky cleans him up and cradles him in his arms.

"I'd do anything for you, Stevie," Bucky whispers against his temple. "Even if it costs me everything again, I'm here, sweetheart. Til the end of the line." 

Steve doesn't know if he was supposed to hear it or if Bucky thought he was already sleeping. "Love you, Buck," he murmurs, and burrows deeper into his arms. 

*****

In the morning, he's woken by the sound of voices and the smell of coffee. He pulls on a pair of sweats and heads down to the kitchen to join Bucky and Nat. They're talking in Russian, and Nat's words trail off as she takes a good look at Steve's neck and chest. He'd foregone a shirt on purpose. 

"You don't need to stop talking on my account," he tells her, in Russian, and she raises a single eyebrow.

"You never told me you could speak Russian." 

"You never asked," he answers, leaning back against the counter and taking a sip. 

"You're such a shit, Rogers."

Bucky laughs. "Have you people not figured that out yet?" 

Natasha grins and leans back as she sips from her cup. "This is quite the display." Her eyes trail over Steve's bare chest once more. "Guess you're going to have to change that." She tips her chin towards his tattoo before her face grows serious. "You said you had something important to tell me about the situation. I would hope that you know you can just tell me you're fucking, so I assume that this is for some other reason."

"Natalia, what do you know about the occult?" 

Natasha's lips press tightly together at Bucky’s words, and Steve isn’t sure if it’s in response to the name or the question, but she quickly regains her composure.

"The Red Room educated us about some things. They worked with the Lycans on occasion, to my knowledge. Everyone knows what HYDRA was doing, of course." Her eyes flick back to Steve before she meets Bucky's gaze once more. "But those aren't wolf bites." 

"They are not."

" _‘The Soldier’s appetite’_ indeed,” she murmurs. “HYDRA?"

"Actually, no. Though they certainly enjoyed exploiting it. During the war. Before he got there,” Bucky nods his head towards Steve. “And before you ask, no, he never knew. Not until last week."

Natasha is silent for a few minutes as she studies the two of them. Even though she’s sitting and they are both leaning against the counter at the opposite end of the kitchen, Steve is terrified. They are putting all their trust in her. They are putting _Bucky's life_ at her mercy. 

“Well,” she says at last with a toss of her head. “I assume you have it under control?”

“He drinks from me,” Steve says with a harsher tone than intended, before Bucky can answer her.

“And what happens when you’re on a mission and not around?”

“I went almost two months without feeling a need for it the first time I drank from him. I’ll be fine.”

“Interesting.” More silence as she drinks and contemplates them. “They’ll need to run tests on Steve, of course. Make sure that it’s not affecting his abilities.”

“No—”

“Of course—” 

Steve whips his head around to Bucky in surprise. “What?”

“Steve, what did you really expect to happen? The team will need to know that you’re not physically compromised by my needs.” 

“We need to get ahead of this, Steve. Have everything already documented, because when SHIELD or whoever eventually finds out about him, we can shut them down before they even try anything.” Natasha’s voice is even, and Steve knows it’s her ‘calm Steve down’ voice, which riles him up further.

“I hate this,” he grinds out through his clenched jaw. “You’re not a fucking lab rat. And neither am I,” he adds.

Bucky studies him a moment before he pulls Steve into his arms. Steve deflates as he clings to him. “I won’t let them hurt you. You’ve been through enough.” 

“Shh, sweetheart. It’s okay. If this is what it takes for us to have a life together, then this is what we do. They’ve got the files. They can look at those again, with the new information, and see what HYDRA already learned about my body. You trust your friends, right?” Steve nods against Bucky’s neck. He does trust Bruce and Sam and Nat. And, for the most part, he trusts Tony. But none of them are _Bucky_. He’d burn the world to keep Bucky safe. “And I trust you, Steve. So we do this. Together. Just like always.”

“I just got you. I can’t lose you again.” He knows his voice is shaky, filled with everything he dares not give breath to: _I couldn’t survive that again._

Bucky keeps one arm tight around his waist, and rubs his back soothingly with the other. “Remember what we discussed? There’s a plan, babydoll. It’ll be okay.” 

Steve lifts his head to look at Bucky. “You sure you’re okay with this? We can go. Leave. Right now, and never look back.”

Bucky shakes his head, a wry grin on his face. “You’re not ready for that yet, Steve. You don’t know how to live without a fight, without a sense of purpose, without feeling like you’re making a difference. No matter where we ended up, you’d attract attention. Better to jump through a few hoops now than to fight our way out later.” 

“Okay,” he whispers, and leans forward to press his forehead against Bucky’s. “Okay,” he repeats, taking a deep breath.

“Damn, we really could’ve used you a few years ago. Even Sam can’t talk him down like that.” 

Steve huffs out that same breath and turns in Bucky’s arms to face Natasha. Bucky spreads his legs a bit and Steve settles against him. 

“I see one problem with this plan.”

“And that is?”

He feels the blush spreading across his face even as he tries to steel himself for what he’s about to do. “What happens when he bites me.”

“What do you mean?” Natasha looks genuinely curious. 

Bucky’s arms tighten around Steve as he noses along his neck. “We discovered something interesting. You see, Steve is the only person who has ever willingly and knowingly given themselves to me. Any other time, I’ve taken what I needed, whether it was from someone already dying on the battlefield or a target. But Stevie, here, well...it doesn’t matter how much or how little I take. The result is always the same.” 

Steve lets out a soft moan when he feels teeth pierce his neck. Bucky only takes a small sip, but it makes no difference to his body.

“Doesn’t matter if he knows it’s coming or not,” Bucky says, and then bites again. Steve feels his legs shaking as he unconsciously grinds against Bucky’s crotch. Cool metal cups Steve’s chin and turns his head, and Steve is tasting himself on Bucky’s tongue, whimpering into the kiss as he struggles to remember that they have an audience. 

Natasha curses under her breath, and Steve hears her shifting in the chair. 

“So, tell me, Natalia. Who do you think will be comfortable watching this?” Bucky asks as Steve ruts against him.

*****

To Steve’s complete mortification, _everyone_ was watching them. Apparently Natasha decided that they _all_ needed to know what happened, in the event that there was some sort of emergency situation where Bucky needed to feed and they weren’t able to have privacy. 

Bruce was fascinated that it happened no matter where Bucky bit, neck or chest or arm. Tony acted scandalized that “our virtuous Captain is no better than I am, look at him, like a dog in heat!” though Steve thought he was secretly thrilled to see Steve was human after all. Sam and Clint averted their eyes when it became obvious what was happening. 

Eventually the novelty (and embarrassment) of it wore off, and as they varied the tests, everyone grew accustomed to Steve turning into a horny mess whenever Bucky bit him. They tried it in various rooms of the tower, from medical to Tony’s workshop to the party deck, but his reaction remained the same. Bucky bit him several times in one day and they monitored his vitals. They had him refrain from biting for several days to see if taking more in one go would impair him. Every time, the result was the same. The serum compensated for the blood loss faster than anyone thought possible, and it was barely a blip in his readings before everything was right back to normal within a short time.

After two months of what Bruce called passive tests, they tried a new one with Steve training flat-out in the gym against a dozen Iron Man suits on his own. Bucky appeared out of nowhere to bite him and then disappeared as quickly, leaving Steve to resume the fight immediately. He was mildly disoriented, took a few good hits before he got his feet back under him, but came out of it no worse than usual in the end. If he was fighting with the team, it was determined, he’d be fine with someone providing cover.

Afterwards, he didn’t make it out of the shower before Bucky was on him, mouth on the back of his neck and two fingers in his ass.

“Fuck, Stevie, tasted so good today, you have no idea, god, all that adrenaline and watching you fight, made me so goddamned hot. Took everything in me to not fuck you right in the middle of the gym.” 

Steve whimpered as Bucky pushed him against the cold tile and drove his cock in, taking what he wanted. He didn’t last long, especially when the sting of teeth was accompanied by a fierce, predatory growl, and Steve came with a shout, long before Bucky was done with him. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hey Buck?” Steve’s voice is only slightly strained, which is impressive given their current situation.

“Mmm?” Bucky lifts his gaze up to meet Steve’s, but doesn’t pull his mouth from Steve’s cock. 

“I was thinking about something.”

_“Careful with that, Rogers, you might get hurt if you actually use your brain once in a while.”_

Steve makes a pained face and drops his head back against the curved wall of the Quinjet behind him. “You’re one to talk, Barton. And kill the comms, damn it. You know better.”

_“Aye, aye, Cap,”_ Clint says with a chuckle. _“Just chiming in to give you a heads up, you got about half an hour tops before you need to be decent.”_ There was an audible click from the speaker as it went dead. It’s not like anyone didn’t know what they were up to in the back of the jet. Bucky had gotten injured during the mission. Nothing life threatening, but he’d lost a bunch of blood. His body had handled it, healed the wound, but as was the case whenever he burned through a ton of energy and reserves, his hunger had been riding him hard by the time they’d finished the mission. The engines had barely fired up when he’d begun pawing at Steve’s collar. Natasha had quietly headed for the cockpit to join Clint and activated the divider, and Steve had pulled them as far into a corner as possible. 

The real problem, of course, was drinking from Steve when he was high from a fight. Steve’s adrenaline only added to his own, and then it was _Bucky_ who couldn’t control himself, who pulled clothing off, needed the release.

“So what were you thinking about, sweetheart?” He asks, pulling off Steve with a satisfied smile. He gives one last lick to the underside of the glans before he lets the foreskin slide back over the head. Steve shudders as he softens in Bucky’s hand.

“You’ve been on a few missions now with us. Ross is gonna come knocking sooner than later at this point. We should get married. Pretty sure he’d have a hard time avoiding the PR nightmare of locking up Captain America’s husband.”

Bucky freezes with his lips against Steve’s throat. 

“Unless you think that’s a terrible plan,” Steve adds at Bucky’s hesitation.

He takes several deep breaths in an attempt at controlling his racing heart and thoughts. 

“Is that the only reason you want to do that?” he asks, lifting his head to search Steve’s face, terrified of the answer he might find there. 

“No, I think it’s a horrible reason for doing it. Not to mention that I haven’t publicly come out, the government thinks you’re dead; there’s a million hurdles to clear just to make it legal. I know that technically we’ve been together for not even a year, but I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that part doesn’t matter, and there’s also the fact that we’re frighteningly co-dependent. But none of that changes how I feel. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I’d be proud to have your last name. I’d have married you the day we met in Arizona. But I don’t know how you feel about that kind of permanency. You’re just getting your life back, and we don’t know how long I’ll live compared to you, and—”

Bucky cuts Steve off with a kiss to shut him up. 

“You done talking now, Stevie?”

Steve presses his lips together and nods, a slight flush spreading across his cheeks. 

“I’m going to agree.” Steve’s face lights up. “On one condition,” Bucky adds.

“Anything, Buck.” Steve’s expression is earnest, hopeful.

“You gotta give the performance of your life when I ask you this weekend at the holiday party. Since you just messed up all my plans and Natasha will kill you for ruining all the work she’s done behind the scenes with Pepper to get me active citizenship and clear my name so I could surprise you.”

Steve’s jaw drops and he stares at Bucky for a moment before he throws his arms around Bucky’s neck and kisses him. 

“You’re serious?” Steve asks, breathless, when they part. 

Bucky knows that Steve is right, there are still a number of hurdles in their path. Including the fact that he’s going to have to go on trial; they haven’t been able to avoid that. But he also knows that he’d spent long enough thinking he couldn’t have Steve, he didn’t want to spend another day without him. Even though he might be unnatural, his wants and desires are no longer things to be ashamed of, aren’t the things that _make_ him unnatural. He and Steve are open with their relationship, at least among their friends. Once Bucky is in the clear, they can make an official announcement. 

“Told you I’d do anything for you, sweetheart. You saved me in Kreischberg when I thought all was lost. You saved me again on that helicarrier when I didn’t even know my own name. You gave yourself to me so I wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught when I need to feed. The least I can do is stick around after all that.” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too, sweetheart. More’n anything in the world.” 

It had been a hell of a journey, getting to this point. He’d already been through hell three times over. Nothing could be worse than what he’d already survived. And with Steve in his arms and by his side, things could only keep getting better. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! come yell at me on tumblr!
> 
> <https://hanitrash.tumblr.com/>


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